Before I Kill: Black Widow
by A Beautiful Insanity
Summary: Before S.H.I.E.L.D., the most powerful law enforcement division, recruited one of the most deadly assassins in the world: Natasha Romanoff, they saw her as a potential threat while her greatest ally, Hawkeye, refused the classification. As the Avenger's Initiative became relevant, agent Clint Barton was given one last mission: to ensure the safety of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
1. Before I Kill 00 Prologue

_**Prologue**_

* * *

Run. It was the most natural of instincts to inherit during a situation like this. As if I hadn't been used to running my entire life. There was a reason Death followed close to my side, like a shadow I couldn't shake. More importantly, being chased by one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assassins wouldn't have been half as hard to bare arms against except he was once a man I knew, of whom I attempted to kill first.

Rounding the corner block, I sought refuge from the dangling fire escape above my head. Blowing the loose strands of red away from my lips proved the least of my worries. Fear was never a strong suit that penetrated the coils chinked within my invisible armor. Then, as though I couldn't release the tight bearings offering a burning sensation towards the tensed muscles in my arms, I heard his scream.

"Romanoff!" He belted louder off the walls, knowing I could hear every word. "Why don't you make this easier on yourself and give up?!" As if that were a logical option, I bit my tongue at the ultimatum. "We're not enemies; we're soldiers." Soldiers couldn't have peace without bloodshed. This was a simple fact he neglected to learn. Someone always takes the fall; someone always falls from what is taken. I don't know why he couldn't understand the relevance to my contradiction. If I gave up, or gave in, I'm dead. If I chose to fight back, or fight against, I would most likely die. But, at least, I wouldn't die by his hand. "So, why don't you fight like one? Prove me wrong." Each word, he emphasized slowly to accelerate my impulsive nature.

"Soldiers?" Apparently, being proud was one of my many, unforeseen, weaknesses. That, and the man provoking my willpower beneath me. "What makes you think the world will accept us. All they know is that we kill. We murder people who abuse the system, of which laws have deemed acceptable. This enforcement agency is no different from the strings they pulled around our joints for the sake of humanity. A better world for a better cause isn't something that realistically happens overnight, Barton." The lone echoes bounced around the alleyway in every direction as he surveyed the area. He knew I was there but couldn't pinpoint the location of my voice, which is what I had intended from the start. "And, that should have been a question to fight for before they decided to take away every original thought that existed against them." Clinging to the bar, I swung my legs forward in order to land on the staircase leading to the roof. "You don't know who you are or what you fight for anymore and you still call yourself a soldier-"

A clang from the trashcan centered around his pacing jump. The higher the risk introduced, the better suited I became to sustain its balance. It was nothing for me to crawl, scurry underneath and around the metal bars that blocked my escape. While as, when a creature is use to the angle of distance, that's all they'll find with me. I move quick and when I strike, I'm extremely lethal. Barton knows that.

Moving quicker to outrun my opponent seemed flawless to a certain extent of intrigue. The rafter banged against his combat boots as I climbed the final brick to the top. Part of the concrete separated from the solid structure as the falling debris barely nicked his shoulder. I paused, breathless. His eyes were different, like the emotion still remained untouched by unnatural forces. During the lapse of judgment, he halted on the spot, staring upward at my stature. I soon wished I hadn't stopped in my tracks.

"What is it that separates the two of us, Natasha?!" Flipping my hair to one side, the moonlit glow proceeded to unveil my identity to the agent. "You talk about uncertainty. You talk about how the world can know no peace. But, how can that truth exist if you don't know yourself?" Hatred burned like a sizzling fire amongst my retinas.

Words tend to slide off the tongue better when they're said to mean revenge. "They've changed you." Shaking conveyed my following silence towards him. He shook his head in acknowledgment.

"No, they helped me realize-"

"-that you're brainwashed, Clint." Looking down at the shadowed figure, I coincided with the notion. Likewise, he persists on nodding his head in a negative response. "I won't risk everything I know to join them."

"You won't risk anything; I promise you."

"We're not programmed to make promises, remember?" At that specific interval, I lunged over the edge of siding, tracing the exact steps needed to gain an advantage. A thump resounds back to my ears. Barton wasn't far behind the trail I led. Stopping, I twisted the loaded weapon inches from his face.

He tilted his neck ever so slightly before dropping his arrows and bow. "They think you're a threat, Natasha. They won't rest until they see you surrender."

Motioning my eyes over his, there was a small recognition within his tone. One that I had come to respect over the past few years. Honesty was never a strength considered amongst warriors. And, between us, it was granted impromptu at best. We knew what cards to play and what angles to chose. But, if you chose the wrong cards to play and the wrong angles, you'll end up regretting everything you once stood for. Pride isn't a necessity, just a notable trait. "Surrendering isn't one of my options. Getting rid of the man in the iron suit, is." Breathing out, I confided in his stance. His guard was up and didn't falter at the menacing bullet awaiting its target within the barrel.

"You're either with us or against us." Barton's hand waves out into the air as I back up to the ledge. "If you choose to be against them, I can't protect you. They will kill you." Thinking over the threat appeared to be my only backup plan besides the loaded gun held within my palms. I contemplated the outcome of sorted events. A sacrifice would have to be made against the hero because he held one lethal power of destruction towards the society, which turned a blind eye to his success.

The surrounding winds gusted at the accelerated motion of the propellers to the helicopter. "Not before I kill him first, agent." His feet pivoted backwards as I fired the weapon. The stream of the passing bullet swiveled through the air, allowing the compacted metal to puncture the silo on the rooftop. It gave me enough time to sprint towards the hovering machine as he retrieved his bow and arrows. Gripping the edge of the metal bar at the bottom, I heaved myself into a perched posture to observe his attack. Water continued to leak from the exposed hole of the silo before exploding into a huge wave.

Barton busted at a dead-bolt run after clearing his head about the current conversation. Part of me wished him harm in the most excruciating of ways while the other half wanted to believe his cries of vulnerability. He jumped in mid-air, twisting to shoot at the helicopter. The tip of the arrow embedded its form next to the side of the bar. Substance without flaws remained the contender between the two of us. I watched him dangle on the cord until I aimed the only shot I needed to end his righteous point. Once the bullet snagged the unraveling cord, darkness enveloped the rest of the ground where nothing could be distinguished without the light of day. We once fought on the same battlefield with the same mission. Now, the lone difference was that we didn't fight for the same truths anymore.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I do not claim any ownership of Marvel's Comics. However, this fanfic based upon the character Black Widow, as one of the Avengers, is my original work._

* * *

_**A/N: **__I always loved the chemistry between these two characters in Marvel's comics. This is my take on Natasha Romanoff's past events leading up to when she meets Clint Barton and the aftermath after he's captured by S.H.I.E.L.D. Exploring the depth of the relationship they once had based upon the truth that was withheld from their knowledge. As always, wish me luck!_


	2. Before I Kill 01 Inconsonance of War

_**Inconsonance of War**_

* * *

Reflections surfaced around the different angles within the solitary room. Each mirror containing an alternate piece of my childhood. Each one concealing half of what was truly present as I braced my lone leg for a twirling spin in the ballroom. It all blurred so fast in the speeding motion to the point where I could no longer distinguish the drastic blended colors between the walls and me. And then, like gravity had intended, I fell to the floor, sufficed with its insurmountable strength to contain my withering stature. A single droplet pelted the wooden surface while I raised onto my knees. More came to follow its example.

Rain caressed the better half of my shuddering pose outside the ballet studio. Cars rustled down the street corners, heading home for night. I stood next to the still, lighted lamp post waiting. The coat, which covered my frail body, became soaked with the weighted water. Snow was present within the frost-bitten air surrounding the city of Stalingrad. The soft moisture, which fell from the dark skies crystallized into ice, bringing forth a chill un-sustained by the present, natural forces produced through the weather.

A black cab with tinted windows sped past the present sign submerged in dim lighting. On instinct, I took a rapid step backwards before getting drenched in the wet slush from the gutter. It halted once my palm braced the curb for support. The passenger side window rolled down, revealing the shadowed face of a man whom observed my tiny stature from a distance. Figuring he pitied my condition, I mocked a dignified composure towards his biased opinion. "Do you have some place to go home to?"

Asking seemed required by his actions. "I-" Searching the loneliness of the barren street corners, I stumbled upon response. He could be someone of power and if he was, what good could this deed do for him? Just a crazy, little Russian girl standing outside in blizzard, waiting on her parents arrival. He probably thought I was just as insane for not asking for a ride. I have my own standards of persuasion. "I'm waiting on a ride." Stating this line fully, he nods discerningly.

"Have you been waiting long?" Still, I could not make out any facial features.

"No," I say in complete confidence.

"Hmm…" My eyes shift to the ground during the notion. "Judging by the snowfall grazed on your shoulder, I would say you've been waiting for quite a while." Immediately, I cross my arms in protection. He's extremely observant for a cab driver. And, I'm extremely naïve for a young girl. Leaning over the stick shift in the center console, the glow from the street lamp unveils his true features. "I can take you home if you so choose."

"I don't trust strangers."

His laugh altered his tension. "Well then, let's not be strangers." The automatic swish in the door frame signaled persistence. "Ivan Petrovitch," A hand wavers in my general direction. "And, you are?"

"Natalia Romanova," I stutter, watching the wisps of heat escape from my breath. Maybe it was the cold getting through to my nerves. Either that, or the accepted fact that my parents had forgotten to pick me up from dance rehearsal.

Even in the middle of an impending war, people were adamant about leaving the streets reserved at night for another purpose. I was scared, and alone, while feeling abandoned by the people who were suppose to care for my life when it mattered most. So, seeing this stranger's black horse parked in front of the closed building gave way to new possibilities. I would always take a gamble on things I knew would, and could, possibly go wrong. But, reading Ivan's face appeared to have appeased my least noticeable trait of compassion. Trust only goes as far as the believer, and I believed in the many, good qualities of man to think different.

"It's not safe to be on the streets this late." Urging me to come to a conclusion about the offer, I sigh defiantly. I had zero to none for options and I knew the consequences for being out on the streets this late at night. More people were beginning to disappear during the blackness than in the light. Echoes of resilient stomps forged their fear into my heartbeat. My pulse heightened towards the unlikely event. "Quick, hop in." Ivan whispers while waving an arm to the seat. I subside into his demands based upon the marching.

The pace quickened and the sound of the boots hitting the pavement resonated higher than before. I looked to Ivan for reassurance before his foot pushed the gas on the vehicle. "Why are there soldiers in the city?" I ask, unaware of what he would know.

"I know," Checking the reversed image in the rear view mirror, he coincided with the actions being placed. "They shouldn't be out this far unless…" Stopping at the concerned statement, I turned a cheek to listen. "Unless, they're preparing for war."

Driving above the average speed limit, we came to a gravel road aside from the entrance to the main city. Every few minutes, he would ask directions and every few miles, I would respond with a simple answer. There was so much going on inside my head that it remained muddled with incompetent decisions. Should I have walked and if so, would I have been safe enough to travel away from the impending blood bath? I always considered luck to be a superstitious intrigue amongst people who concede into rational upbringings. Something new suited the task given at hand. There were less places to hide while more places became obsolete. And all I had for comfort at the given time, was a handsome cab driver, of whom roamed random streets in the middle of the night.

"Why now?" Breaking the silence, I confided in his knowledge.

His pause stood apparent in consideration. "I suppose change is at hand." Fumbling through the compartment near the radio, he twists out a cigar from the lone slot underneath the station. As he brings it to his mouth without producing a match, I focus on his next few words. "Things have been bad for a while now. I just think the country, and its people, are divided in their views about world domination. We're not programmed to make any one certain promise as a group of individuals. Because a better world will never suit a better cause amongst the ignorance of its people." Finding a single match and striking it against the dash board, Ivan lights his cigar. He pulls on the drag before continuing. "They will only understand what truth leads them to believe is right. Amongst our people, and our pride, we are better suited for bloodshed and not peace."

"What if the people decided not to fight?" The side of the car grazed the trunk of a tree as he pressed the break. "Then the war would never be a decision."

"Smart kid," He straightens out the steering wheel before angling his body towards me. In an instant, I shrink further down in my seat. "Because every great war was won through refusing the right to bare arms." Sarcasm laced his words in the meaning of ridiculousness.

"Why would anyone want bloodshed?"

"No one ever wants bloodshed." Ivan presses the gas petal after shifting the gears in place. "It just so happens to be a product of war."

Daring to be intrusive, I collide with the statement. "If people were smart, they wouldn't consider war as reasoning."

"True," He huffs out in exasperation. "But, it's only fair, beyond a reasonable doubt, to reconsider what reasoning brought us to war." The end of his cigar burns bright after the inhale. "One, of which, I'm not looking forward to resolving." Stunned upon impulse, Ivan motions to the road ahead. "Maybe this land will remained untouched in all of this chaos."

"It's the Inventor that created all this chaos, isn't it?" Silence overtook the space between us. Soon, I had wondered if he knew what I was at all talking about. But, all the same, he acted calm, like I never mentioned any such person.

During the solid break of conversation, Ivan sustains its importance. "The Inventor has definitely made an impact on Russia-"

"-He created those machines hidden amongst the United Nations, I thought."

No man had ever encountered the technology to which the Inventor had built. Our nation became more and more terrified of his means of world domination. It seemed that the underdogs, which were presently immobile at some distance, came to life near our borders. Whether it was a threat was not something to take lightly on any type of note, our people became petrified and feared an unknown source of weaponry undertaken with intentional slights against their government. Whether we would decide to take a stand would depend on the compatible resources gained through the observation of the machine. It was unlike anything, anyone had ever witnessed.

"Howard Stark has made quite a mess of things." A building lay off in the distance as I shuffled my feet in anticipation. "One which will create scars amongst our people. We won't forgive easily."

"That's my house." I state, pointing a finger over the correct direction. Loose gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I stepped out of the vehicle. Bracing myself against the door frame, Ivan grabs my forearm.

"Stay safe, Natalia."

Breathing outwards, my fear subsides. "I will." Closing the door, I back up towards the secluded building. A dust uplifted from the dirt road as the cab vanished off into the distance. The back tail lights faded in their luminescent glow, which departed from the blackened skies.

I knew, deep down, that the war beckoned from the North. It withered close to the capital, expecting a neutral battlefield. Whatever was chosen for the grace of our nation wasn't decided upon by the people. And, the soldiers who were willing to fight marched towards an impossible feat. The American's Inventor was someone who prompted perfect excuses for judgment. He could level an entire city based upon our indifference to one another. How could we stand, even a chance of survival, amongst their weapons? It would seem unfair, but excuses only go as far as their words impact their sender. We could not win this war with just soldiers and machine guns. What our country feared most was the death of its people. Some were innocent, some even compassionate. But, they fought silently on the sidelines instead of in the line of fire.

Because as I watched the lights disappear into the darkness. I felt the warmth of the fire engrossing my home. A house, in which my parents spent decades to build away from the controversy of the capital, was now engulfed in numerous flames. Each one eating at the wood and brick binding the building to its, once, solid structure. A beam tumbled to the first floor before I raced up the steps and into the burning heat. Smoke rose amongst the floating ashes as I attempted to distinguish any form within the raging fire.

* * *

By the time I had reached the living area, half the second floor was demolished. Ash filled my lungs and nostrils, causing me to cough in terror. Where were my parents? And, if they hadn't been within the confines of the city, then did they rest here? Panic sets inside my chest as it tightened into a knot. Very little could be recognized and very little was left in its natural state.

"Mom! Dad!" I screamed after coughing a mouthful of liquid debris from my lips. The place was falling apart. Making my way upstairs, I saw the small silhouette of my mother lying lifeless between the door frame and threshold. Taking a step forward, another beam separated the two of us.

The fringes from my tutu subdued beneath my jacket, sizzled from the flames. Patting the left side relieved the singed burn attracting its victim. Fear was such a deterrent when it came to emotions. My actions were replaced in their simplest substitute for grievance. Few people are ever mournful in their lifetime and even less tend to cry at the circumstances. She was either dead or unconscious, and I had no closure of keeping her safe. My father was another mystery altogether. Because I never had a chance to search before the roof decided to cave in upon its home.

An arm extended, outstretched, in order to clamp onto my shoulder. It was then that I saw my father's body wedged between several stair posts. The light had gone from his lovely eyes as I screamed in sorrow. My cries whimpered in retrospect as the clutch weakened, only to be replaced by another. "We have to go!" Through the steaming smoke clouds, I can just make out Ivan's desperate facial expression as he scooped me up into his arms.

"No!" A terrible gut wrenching agony cut through my abdomen.

Petrovitch carries me down the steps and out the awaiting cab. An explosion blows both of us to the ground. The house in which I grew up pummels to the Earth. I sat there with tears soaking the better half of my eyes, watching and sulking amongst the incident. I think I suspected at that time that it hadn't been by chance, or even coincidence, that something had gone wrong long before I heard the soldier's march through the capital. Before I even collided with Ivan, I knew there had to be a reasoning behind the madness of punctuality. Everyone knew their place and where they need be, but seeing the multitude of raised embers dancing in the night sky read an alternate motive for me.

When my tears stopped, Ivan was there to comfort me. "Come with me." His palm extends out. I refused the action with subtle regret. How could I leave the death that reeked of revenge? They deserved better from me, and I believed I could take pride in avenging their rightful place in society.

I shook my head back and forth in refuge. Disappointing his gesture of gratitude, I confided in the isolated situation. "I can't leave them here." I say discerningly, motioning to the debris cluttered around the area. "I just can't." His face turned to one of grief and then transformed to one of solidity in a matter of seconds.

"I know how hard death can be, Natasha." He pats the small of my back, trying to soothe the pain. "But, whoever targeted your parents meant to destroy you as well."

"Why?" Stuttering seemed weak at this moment.

"I honestly don't know but I can help you find out why." Looking up at his sincerity read amongst his sympathetic nature. "If we stay here, we won't be safe." Again, he holds out a hand for me to grab. Hesitant at first, I finally grasp it. Lifting my frail and drained limbs off the dirt and grass proved simple for him. I winced in union with the pressure being exerted on my right knee where a deep gash revealed itself. Bleeding slowly in between breaks of movement. It was the only thing left from the fire that still burned inside myself. That, and the secluded memory of the trauma I would never forget.

"I will find out who did this one day-" I state inside the vehicle as he shifts the gears into place. "-one way or another."

Ivan rotates his neck to look at me. "Put pressure on the wound. It will stop the bleeding." After removing his hand from my palm, I stare out the glass window where the smoke continued to rise into the air. "One thing's for sure…" Observing his specific movements in the reflection with my own, Ivan motions the factor left amongst the tragedy. "…This war has only just begun." His foot shifts to the gas petal as he floors the black cab into the darkened gravel road. To where, I didn't know.

* * *

"What is this place?" Pulling up to a reserved facility a couple of miles outside the capital, I ponder at its secrets. Ivan glances back in my direction before scratching his skull. It wasn't until then that I noticed the scar beneath his feathered hair. As light as it was due to the coloring, it remained concealed away from prying eyes.

"Nowhere anyone knows about." He responds, clicking the shifter forward into park. A small smirk evades his charming dimples resting within his cheeks. "You'll be safe here. That I can promise you."

Gusting winds vacated the desolate strip of land leading to the entrance. My door was held open as my protector waved an arm out at the building. Unsurprised by the appearance of the design, its architecture resembled that of stone and brick on the outside. When the doors opened to the inside, the infrastructure presented a more concrete dwelling along with a tiled format.

We paused at the front desk, awaiting a command to move ahead but instead, a voice resounded over an intercom, confronting our unidentified prescience within the room. "Please state your name and verification code. After you have given this information, await further processing. If you are cleared, you are welcome to proceed into the premises. If you are denied access, we hold the right to terminate your following advances." After the last sentence, my eyes must have widened to a substantial gap.

He takes a slow breath, exhaling the resisting urge to condone stressed vocals. "Ivan Petrovitch, agent one, zero, five, nine." A few moments pass before the intercom bursts to life again. In reaction of shock, I involuntary clutch his hand. As soon as his laugh breaks free from the motion, it confirms.

"Ivan Petrovitch, agent one, zero, five, nine." The machine repeats carefully back. "Agent confirmed. Access granted."

"It's not as hard as it looks." Ivan states while I unclench my palm.

I guess I didn't realize how much of a grip I had until the color flushed back into his fingers. "What would happen if there was an intruder?" Daring to ask was a hopeful gesture of innocence.

"Impossible," He huffs back. "As long as this facility's been open, there hasn't been an intruder-"

"-But if there was?"

"The person, however unlikely, would be blinded by tear gas, stunned by a thousand watt taser, and restrained by a double-bound steel wire until further questioning." Well, at least, I know.

Another locked doorway tries to confirm our entrance. "Retinal scan required for entry. Please verify any unknown party outside of facility. If you refuse to verify your unknown party, drastic action will take effect immediately after processing." Leaning his head forward, the scanner follows the movement of his pupil dilation. "Confirmed entry. Please state all unknown parties with vocal recognition." Motioning his posture to me, I unravel my arms to proceed up to the changed structure of the retinal scanner, which was now a blank screen with a lone line spread across its length.

"Natasha Romanoff," My voice cracked into the speakers from nervousness.

"Natasha Romanoff," The speaker repeats back before I step away. "Retinal scan required for entry." As if I wasn't already terrified of what means of prevention the building possessed, my chest rested on top of the machine's ever-changing model. "Verification confirmed." The intercom resurfaced back into its original form while preparing the processing. "Please state your immediate location, in which you would like to be granted access."

"Black Widow Operative Program," Ivan says firmly while glancing back at me.

* * *

_**A/N: **__As difficult as it is to write about a character with so much depth, it's even harder to write about an organization and program that isn't suppose to exist. In the following chapters, I'll explain more about the operative program. If you would like to post a review to the chapter, feel free to do so. I always appreciate feedback!_


	3. Before I Kill 02 Victimless Actions

_**Victimless Actions**_

* * *

"Welcome to the Black Widow Operative Program." The doors slide away from each other, revealing another space alternate to the previous setting.

"Stay here." Ivan orders while jogging down the hallway to the left. I stood as still as possible, not wanting a single breath to set off an alarm. Could that be one of their tactics: suffocation?

None two seconds later, a flashing light appears next to my side, causing me to flinch effortlessly. Following the event, a young teenage male dressed in a militant uniform resolves the problem. I watched as he pressed the lit button, which had created so much attention down the empty hallways. People ducked their heads out from their doorways in pure curiosity.

"Honestly," He huffs out in exhaustion from the sprint after pressing another code into the computer's system. "How hard is it to verify your number before continuing into the main hall?" My face blushed red after the statement. Ivan left me alone too quickly. His gaze falls over to me as I half smile during the unfortunate incident.

Clearing my throat so I could speak, I stutter through my first impression. "I-I'm sorry." Standing straighter than before, his hand moves instantly to his hip near the gun holster. "I don't have a number-"

"State your name." He demands immediately.

"I mean no harm-" I begin.

"Your name." The gun points to my level as my eyes cross in despair.

"Natasha Romanoff," His muscles tense with every movement.

"State your business." My pupils widened at the hole in the barrel of the gun.

"I came here with Ivan Petrovitch-"

The patter of hurried footsteps bestow their urgency upon us. "Agent Volkvov, what is the meaning of this?!" A woman dressed much in the same attire as the young male, except for the medals rattling from her left breast, confronted the unresolved threat. Brewing beneath the matter, Ivan quickened his pace after observing the loaded weapon being thrust towards my lips. I didn't dare breathe or speak past this point. It seemed as though that method tended to get me into more troublesome situations than help could preserve, given the correct circumstances of my genuine luck.

Agent Volkvov shifted his pupils from the woman back to me. "She infiltrated the security system." Parting my lips to object, I subside into silence. "I assure you she's more dangerous than she appears."

"Is that so, Nicholai?" Ivan questions the soldier's judgment. A bead of sweat rolls down one temple before pelting to the floor. I tense at the movement of his index finger placing pressure on the trigger. If the truth was that death had taken everything from me, then it missed something more important. "Because every great threat comes with the consequence of death, itself."

His finger lessens the pressure being exerted on the trigger while the barrel of the gun tips downwards, away from retaliation. My breathing comes out in a heaved manner of reluctance. Staring deep into the darkness of the barrel would always remind me of the cruelty of mankind. Such weapons made to dismember and decease a human being, who had more right to take that last breath before the shards of metal ripped through their flesh. Is it so difficult to ask ourselves whether we, as humans, were bred more for peace or for war? That somewhere between the lines of perseverance, we severed the last cord of harmony amongst ourselves to sacrifice a greater good. Impenetrable at best, my heartbeat never withered a sequence of disturbance at his vengeful gesture of ignorance. Some soldiers, as the one who stood aside from me, were meant for more horrendous acts of arrogance through their training.

Describing him in many conclusive disregards, he appeared discipline to the extent of every movement placed. Meaning, that from the time I came into contact with the agent, he seemed controlled in the manner of fear. Nothing eluded him or distracted him from his questioning. Odd yet senseless, I found that his jacket was not made of the usual, distinctive brown of that of a soldier. Instead, it was navy. As well as the woman who stood next to him, she wore much the same attire except in a more regal apparel to that of a higher up.

She motioned for his weapon as the agent complied, handing it over instinctively. Ivan graced a nod in my general direction as I relaxed. It was never too late to convict a lesser known motive hidden amongst his secrets. What did he really know about this place, which I had yet to place in commemorative thought.

"Nicholai, you are dismissed." He nods at the command. "Until further notice, you are to be placed under surveillance near the Red Room training facility." Volkvov's eyes bare their intentions back at me. I shudder at the glare, impending the forewarned harm to reconcile his punishment. "Do you understand these instructions, agent?"

Breaking from his stare, my eyes rest upon Ivan's solidarity. He had been breathless once before. Now, he seemed like he was barely breathing at all. "Yes, ma'am." Excusing himself from the main hall, Nicholai heads down the secluded hallway to his awaiting destination.

Ivan looks to the woman and then to me. "I didn't intend on anyone thinking you were a threat." He apologizes on my behalf in front of her. I bite my lower lip to relieve the tension stirring underneath all the unintentional slights brought forth from his absence previous to these actions taken against me. Was I really this unlucky or was I truly a threat? Because someone of my height and weight would surely not be taken seriously enough to cause any harm, or any bloodshed. That much I was sure of.

"Well," The woman speaks immediately after Ivan. "It will not be a problem again." As if to suggest that his impulsive nature were to be restricted in the most certain of conveniences, she sighs reserved in honor of the statement.

"What does that mean?" I ask collectively in wake of the events.

Ivan has the obscene nerve to interrupt. Protection only went as far as the man trying to conceal something of himself. What he didn't want me to discover was another intent on keeping me ignorant and blind to the true nature of his distractions. I had no one else to trust at this given moment. But, all the same, I didn't want to trust anyone either. "There's no need to punish the boy. He made a simple mistake much like I did without realizing so." He figured he forgot to punch in the code for verification to the entrance to the main hall. "Besides, General Mullova, no harm was done. Just a misunderstanding made was all." I managed to gulp after the revelation of their type of surveillance. It had other intentions conveyed amongst its word other than keeping a watchful eye. I suddenly felt remorse for my actions. I should have been smart and explained the miscommunication.

"Very well, Agent Petrovitch." She acknowledges my prescience once more, whispering a line into his ear for good measure. After she pulls back, I straighten my spine hopelessly in an effort to appear brave. "I shall make use of his punishment in another form. As for now, I must leave you to your plans. There are many soldiers to mold into perfect weapons." Her laugh excluded charm in favor of false humor. General Mullova takes a step up to me, standing almost face to face, she brushes the tip of my shoulder. "You have much bravery for such a young girl. What is your name?"

For the repeated time of a thousandth it seemed like, I stated my name back to her. "Natasha Romanoff." At least, that's what their security system would register my identity under since I was too nervous to correct the infliction on my original name. Maybe, it had been better to change the old surname to something that compelled it away from the tragedy it had caused. Still, I did not know why or even how I ended up in this unknown facility.

A pause suits her royalty. She remained posed in a sense of delight on the subject matter. "Well, Ms. Romanoff, I'm impressed." Looking back at Ivan, he smirks at the remark. "And, that is rather hard for me to admit, even in training. If you pass verification, I expect great things from you."

Saluting Ivan and I, she dismisses herself to the training facility. "You handled that like a champ, kid." His arm smuggles my shoulder blade as we guided ourselves down a different hallway. Never in my life have I wanted to smack someone more than I wanted to at that time.

"Does everyone have a weapon?" He stops as we rounded another corner before answering my question.

Every hallway looked the same in color and pattern. Confused for a second, I lean against a wall as he decided which way to turn. "Yes, most of them are concealed away from the knowledge of civilians like yourself."

"That's always great to know." Next time I oppose a threat, I want a hand gun for protection rather than an operative agent who has attention deficit disorder, abandoning me in the crossfire of an investigative report due to insolence.

"We don't fire if the victim has no form of lethal action." So, the boy just happened to get trigger happy during a routine checkup at the gate? Something was off. "He's still in training, one of the youngest I've seen advance to that level of command in such a short time. You're bound to miss certain rules and regulations with that fast of an advancement." I cross my arms during his explanation. Finally, a lone hallway presented itself as a dead end. All that could be made out as a giant 'X' on the sliding door with another authorization panel. "I'm sure his punishment would have been less severe in his case. Negative reinforcement is neglected unless disciplinary action fails."

Pushing me up to the monitor, I struggle to abide by his actions any longer. "Natasha Romanoff." The machine repeats it back and then requires the retinal scan after the entry.

"Authorization confirmed. Welcome to Department X." The speaker box replies while the sliding doors open automatically. Ivan takes a step back before the door closes. A second before the gap disintegrated between us, I began to open my mouth, figuring he could read my lips. Why he didn't enter would always haunt the thought of alienation into the foreign room.

* * *

"Ivan?" The slit separating the sliding doors diminishes as his face disappears. The dim lighting consumes the entire elevator from a single light bulb. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust before another set of doors open behind me.

"Ms. Romanoff," A tall, stocky woman in her early thirties and dressed in a white coat confronts me. My eyes roam around the room, attempting to distinguish all objects kept in the shadows. The one source of energy came from the centerfold in the middle where a vacant chair sat. "Please, have a seat."

"I think there's been some kind of mistake." I begin with a shrug, rubbing the corner of my elbow before limping towards brightness.

The woman grabs the clipboard off the counter, flipping the papers over until she found the right one. Looking up after confirming the information given on the page, she motions a movement to the chair once more. I appease her motion for the time being. "Why do you think that, Natasha?"

"I-" I meet her eye to eye as she traces her steps in front of me. "I just thought I would be taken some place safe."

Her eyebrow raises in union to the response. "You don't feel safe here, do you?"

"Well, I just had a gun pointed at my face none two minutes ago." My palms spread out in an animated notion of activity with the two fingers representing the barrel and thumb as the trigger to the reenactment. "Before that, I witnessed my parents being consumed in a raging fire-"

"Terrorists," She validates in midst of my rant. "I understand your hesitation to trust us."

"Who are you people?"

"We're a secret operative organization outside the Russian government." Lowering the clipboard to her side, my arms cross while listening carefully to her words. "We train a disciplined group of super soldiers in combat and espionage. Our main objective is to protect and avenge the Russian citizens." A paper loosens its grip from the clipboard and plunges to the floor. In reaction, I dive down to reach for it. The woman pauses in silence, encouraging the act of compassion at first. I hand it over the top of the ledge before she snatches it promptly.

"By protect, do you mean save? And, by avenge, do you mean murder?" A gaze falls between the bulk of attitude leaking off my tongue. Even as I stated the question, she sneered at the remarked insinuation. How could she be offended by such a comment of truth? As heartless as her reactions remained, I continued to make a distinct stance by keeping eye contact as intently as possible.

"In certain circumstances, you will have to make a choice based upon what is the most logical response. If a gun is aimed at your face to fire, your reaction should be to disarm, immobilize and during a rare case, kill." Like someone snapped their fingers in front of my face, my eyes retract from their bulbous shape placed by her demand. "Because," Setting the clipboard aside on the counter before facing the upsetting conversation, I struggle to sit still while the woman brings back a needle filled with an unknown substance. "When it comes to survival Natasha, you will always choose the path that follows life. Death will be too afraid to touch your bare skin after you have shown no mercy to those you once cared for the most." Tapping the cylinder tube to decrease the air bubbles, the muscles in my arm condense from the seating arrangement, discovering them to be bound by leather straps as a restraint. I was contained to fear, and death saluted its forthcoming as a result.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask confidently.

The woman in the long white coat smiles faintly while grinning at my sudden awareness of entrapment. A squeeze comes from her effort on the draw of the drug. "No, but you will kill for us." Wincing from the pressure being placed through the layer of skin, I groan in discomfort. The draw pulls as my senses become considerably dissolved by the medication.

"I can't feel-" I state while the woman picks the clipboard back up. By feeling, nothing of fear even by confinement weighed through my nerves. It was as though all the tension being extorted as the means of altercation subsided into nothingness. A peace washed over my intentions to harm the capturer.

Jotting a note down, I watch the pen move carefully back and forth. "-anything." She finishes while smiling once more. "Perfect."

"I don't understand."

"The dulling of the emotional senses is quite normal." A pen scribbles on the margin as it loses ink during the writing. "Your name is Natasha Romanoff, correct?"

"Yes," I answer quickly without hesitation.

"Are you a Russian civilian?"

"Yes. My last name is of the late Russian heir to the throne."

"Who are your parents?" I hear her ask from a distance as I pause.

I go to move my mouth but fall short of answering despondently. "I can't remember their names." Her quickened pace to her scratching against the paper raises an eyebrow. "Is that normal?" As though I should have had an image of the typical tucking into bed spreading across my memory. Their faces were significantly blurred beyond mention. And their actions, no matter how predominant, surged flawlessly before evaporating amongst the neurons. Why couldn't I, at least, recall their names?

"Interesting," She tilts her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "Who do you remember that made you feel safe?"

Looking down and then back up, I acknowledge the one face which tied me to the relatives that I couldn't place. "Ivan," I respond after thinking back on it. The many ashes pouring from the ruins while mixing with the snow resulted in the reincarnation. His hand outstretched as I wiped away the tears fallen from my eyes.

"Was he the one who saved you?"

The thought embraces her question. I grabbed Ivan's hand in order to lift my knees from the ground. "He promised I would be safe with him." An indifference crosses my path of exposure. Snowflakes fluttered near the corners of those present memories. "If I didn't come with him, would I be dead?" A reminder sets its course of involvement.

A swallow settles in her throat. "Possibly." For a mere moment, my eyes fluctuate between the depth of realization. "I believe the chances of your survival would have been extremely low." It seemed as though she wanted to comfort the notion by reaching a hand towards mine. Instantly, my fingers cringe inwards in reaction to the gesture.

"Should I be?"

Her eyes mask the strained emotion pertaining to the interrogation. "Should you be dead?" I nod my head up and then down in order to give some direction to the acceptance. "Technically, yes."

A drop of wetness captivates my cheek. "How do I forget?"

A pause overwhelms me as the woman in white leans forward with her wrists connected by invisible cuff-linked chains. "I can help you learn to forget."

"How?" My head tilts away as the single spotlight begins tarnishing beneath its glow.

* * *

"Natasha?" A deep voice awakens the sleep pattern of delicate strings through recognition. The lids covering my sight part slowly while adjusting to the change in colors surrounding my body. "You did great." His fingers wrap around my forearm for a tight squeeze. A slight tilt becomes me as his facial features present themselves. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts." I croak out, not use to the absurd dryness from my throat. Noticing this, Ivan sets a glass of water into my hands.

Chugging the liquid quickly, I found the nourishment relieving. "Well, you're still in the process of healing." He motions to the bandage near my covered leg. Of course, I moved a tense strain before unraveling the blanket around the inflicted area.

Wincing at the surge of pain made me regret attempting the turn. Looking down at the spot again, the bandage was gone. "I thought I hurt my leg."

Ivan snorts at the sentence. "What are you talking about?" His eyebrow raises to question the accident. "You never hurt your leg-"

"I did!" I yell back upset. "I did, didn't I?" At least, I thought I had. "I can't remember."

Silence overcomes the room as I straighten my spine in the cot. "What can you remember?" He asks, patiently awaiting the clear answer.

"Almost nothing," I say knowingly.

"But, you remember me?" He questions.

"Just you, and no one else."

A knock embraces the door frame as he stands on the opposite side of the room. The bunk was settled in was contained off from the wall. Creaking, the solid mass of wood slides away from the wall, coveting its personal shape. From the concealment, I witness the woman in the navy suit glide amongst the abyss of space within the room.

"General," I manage to state before standing urgently with a salute. Suddenly, my awareness is assaulted by an ambiguous refuge of forethought. For a pause, the actions faintly render my conscious state unwelcoming to the discovery. Ivan squints at the prompt response of respect while conveying the same actions.

Clapping after the display of allegiance, General Mullova captures the notion near her chest. Patting the isolated spot where it read sincere. "Impressive, soldier." She smiles energetically. "You have recovered quickly."

"Was I hurt before?" Asking seemed to fail the misconception.

"No," Ivan retorts as the General scowls in his direction.

"Just ill, is all." I hear her respond from my right ear while I kept eye contact with Ivan. His gaze diverts downwards before resolving its form of awkward tension to the surrounding conversation. Just his avoidance at her phrase made me twitch with an alternate motive. "Of course, you're much better now."

"I feel strong." Almost better than before when I laid in the cot. To my body, the movement released more adrenaline through the pressure amongst the blood within my veins.

"Excellent!" She applauds the news.

Another knock sounds at the sliding door. Immediately, it reopens, revealing the impatient personnel. "General Mullova," He begins, finally observing the situation within the room. One glance at my stature, and his glare tightens its grip on the hindrance through passive aggressiveness. "We might have a problem-"

"What is it now, Volkvov?" Whispering into her ear intently, she dilates her pupils to a substantial size before reconsidering the information. "They have found something I thought would take years in advance to stumble upon." My grin turns curious in a millisecond. Ivan situates his stance next to my side, handing over a slip of paper behind our backs and away from the prying eyes of the higher ups. Nodding, I retrieve the message and tuck it carefully between the fold in my sweats. "Are you sure this information is valid based on its source?" Glancing at the soldier to her left suited the technical aspect of anesthetics. Research was to be endowed for further notice.

"Positive," Agent Volkvov states as the two of them depart and the General excuses herself.

"Agent Volkvov," I salute after Ivan evades my side for the time being. Hesitant at first, he eventually follows protocol and responds with the mirrored action of my own. Afterward, my forehead scrunches with an ideal mannerism of distaste. Why did I think we got started off on the wrong foot to begin with? Maybe, it could have been from the potential and lethal sense of loathing oozing from his predominantly arrogant body language. Either that, or I was beginning to understand everything differently. Because when my first impression on a training sergeant goes haywire, I couldn't bare to face the unorthodox method of persuasive prejudices.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _Leading up to the events where Natasha Romanoff is captured by the Black Widow Operative Program, they display involvements including a mood altering drug which, in a sense, brainwashes her into remembering false incidents. It's always interesting to see who influenced the character before they became who they were in the later comics. If you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it!_


	4. Before I Kill 03 Comabat & Espionage

_**Combat & Espionage**_

* * *

When everyone had dispersed from my chamber, I felt the bulge of folded paper against my bare skin. Carefully fingering the edge of the message made me all the more eager to read its contents. But, there was something in the back of my thoughts telling me to wait, telling me not to be eager. And with that thought presented in a familiar voice, it stood dominant against any greater common sense.

Instead of appeasing to the compulsive nature of knowing, I sat down on the stiff cot in the bunker. It was then that I realized the imagined corners to be somewhat relevant. Some previous form of favoritism suited the foreign articles occupying the tight space around me. Stone bricks layered the common décor matching its resemblance to the tone outside the room. From a mere glimpse when General Mullova inhabited the lone area, I found comparison between the formats from the outside matching the layout inside. A trunk mingled near the end of the cot with its hood open and emptiness filling its contents. A night stand with a single lamp encroached upon the headrest of the cot. Its drawers were also barren and empty. It wasn't until my eyes scanned the opposite end of the room that they came to rest on the bureau, focusing on the sheer gloss of reflected metal.

Upon closer inspection, the gleam presented itself in the form of a watch. The face remained frozen without any movement from the hand counting the seconds. Holding it up to one ear, I found that it didn't register a sound natural to that of ticking. For whatever reason, it didn't work. Setting the item down, I continued to open the dresser drawers for further evidence. The first drawer revealed crisp, clean uniforms. The shirts were colored navy and the trousers army green. A patch represented the logo of the program embedded with the colors of the Russian flag. My thumb embraces the texture of the woven pattern, admiring its specific details. Compared to the outfit I now wore, little to no defense could be made that it concealed much. If anything at all, it covered a small amount of flesh and with frail material. Typical for sleeping but not for training or anything else.

Again, I traced the edge of the other drawers as they concealed nothing of importance. There wasn't a trace of living methods forged throughout the room, and I knew the lifespan of which I inhabited its arena had not been extremely long. Everything felt clean. No dust, no dirt and no mess could be observed anywhere. The space hadn't been lived in yet. Pondering the wondrous arousal of wakefulness, the monitor alongside the stone wall burst into life as I cradled the broken watch in my palm, only to shove it underneath the clothes inside the top drawer.

"Training will commence in the Red Room facility in thirty minutes." Tossing the shirt on top of the bed with a pair of pants, I listen to the speaker's command. "If you fail to comply with this protocol, termination will be a liable action, as is dismissal from any substantial title." The ball of my fist pressured its way into my jaw line as my eyes turned upwards in refrain. Dismissal from what? Termination how?

A slip of rolled up paper sailed onto the floor beneath my feet and under the bed. Grasping at air for a moment, my fingers clasped around the desired object of mystery. Ivan's note half unraveled in wake of the current situation. The corner crumpled ever so slightly to reveal a smudge of a letter. Breathing in and then out slowly, I muster up enough courage to open the flap, containing the hidden message. Instead of words threaded together to make out a simple sentence, it was an outline of something entirely different. More of an imprint encoded in graphite which outlined the possible prestige of circumstances. The lone mark that stood out above the design that of an upside down arrow, almost prism-like in shape and dimension. With the first half of the name smudged, the bottom read clear.

"-Enterprises?" I question back, still unable to distinguish the top half.

The door to the room slides inside the wall, revealing the soldier on the other side. In a frenzy of panic, I shove the paper into the pocket of the folded pants. After the concealment, a smile breaks onto my facial expression as my muscles tense from the strain of emotion. "Agent Romanoff-"

"-Doesn't anyone knock around here?" Waving a hand off at the entry, I plead my case. "Privacy is extremely important to me as I am sure it is to everyone else." He goes to take a breath to explain, but I interrupt his efforts. "And, I'm not trying to be a hassle, but there is absolutely nothing separating that door from this room." A smirk falls over his face as I rant. Great, I hope he listens. It would be a first. "I could have been-"

"Naked?" The gears in my subtle charm had fallen into a grimace at his notion. "Ah-hem," My back remained turned away from him in midst of the event to tackle the outfit offering its condolences to my rude behavior. He didn't deserve my attention. "Well, I can see your training today is going to be more complicated than previously predicted." The tongue in cheek method resulted in utter angst. "No matter, though. Just make sure you're fully clothed during your session." Grunting at the gesture of ordering, I strike a glare at his last line. "For your sake, you might finally advance after years of practice."

Noticing the stressed vowels in the statement, I comply with a worthy answer. "Thank-you, Agent Volkvov." I'm so very privileged to have your assistance in a time like this.

"You're welcome." He retorts before exiting the room. Half the fabric of my shirt unravels around my flesh before the familiar swoosh of the sliding door crosses my ears. Immediately, I grab the hem to pull downwards as the agent straddles the doorway. Before I even have a chance to argue or shout an obscene phrase, his wrist flicks a laminated card onto the ground. "Try not to leave your ID card lying around. It makes it tempting to ignore your privacy." Sticking my tongue out in favor of the notion of disturbance, he watched the act perceive the forgotten motion of me cradling the parts of my teenage development. Smugly, Nicholai smirks at the embarrassment before laughing outside the steel door, which muffled his continued humor in carefully placed motives.

"Kid better watch his back." Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was revenge. All the sweeter than that of chocolate was one that tasted of blood. And if I couldn't kill the commander of our training unit, then I could at least leave him with a bloody lip. Anything less, and he wouldn't be at a disadvantage. For this moment, I felt weak in structure and heavy in primal instincts of superiority. It didn't matter the badge, the medals or even the experience. I wanted what all great soldiers wanted: to be recognized for what others can't achieve. I figure making a name for yourself can't be that hard. Making the right name to be known by was another feat altogether.

* * *

After clothing my bare skin, I rushed down the main hallway only to become severely disoriented in the path. Several routes lead down different corridors that it resembled a labyrinth of sorts. "I commend you on being Nicholai's main threat of rebellion, Nat." Another soldier in training disturbed my thought process. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders as she tousled it back into place. Observing the sewn patch with identification on the button-up camo shirt, it read: Dubkova. "What did you say to him anyway? He looked flustered when I ran into him a second ago."

Looking left and then right, she tapped my shoulder blade for acknowledgment. In an instant, the palm of my hand encloses around her wrist. Balancing the restrained weight towards my legs, I lifted her body swiftly over mine so that she landed backwards and away from me.

"Anya!" Another girl down the hallway rushed to her aid before glancing at my posture. Again, I didn't know whether the action could really have been something of reward on my behalf. I stood silent in waiting. "What's your problem, agent?" Her eyes narrowed in their meaning of a determined threat.

Coughing from the pressure being exerted by the unforeseen force, Anya gasps a response. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Honestly, why do they keep a nutcase in this training facility?" With a pun intended, my brows arched in a dignified distaste of her words.

"Because she's the best coordinated defense the operative program has, Karina." Fluttering blond waves shortened themselves into a wrap while the next soldier marched down the lone hallway. I soon felt a wash of relief centered over her prescience. Somehow, things would be fine.

"So much for excuses-" My hand reaches down to help Anya off the floor while Karina gazes at the notion. For some reason, I got the feeling she didn't really trust my instincts or ulterior motives. Not that I had very many other than figuring out Ivan and his unveiled secrets. Suddenly, I was aware of which talents I presented in midst of uncertain circumstances.

"I'm sorry." Anya brushes off her pant legs while mimicking a false salute at the most recent witness to the situation. "I didn't mean-"

Karina stands abruptly, crossing her arms in conjunct with the apology. "Imagine if you meant something for more than just five seconds. But, I guess that short term memory is one of your greatest weapons for destruction around here?" Her nose raised ever so slightly at the remark as Anya nodded in acceptance for my regret.

"No need to be jealous, Agent Vasillisa." The blond haired girl retorts. Her shirt read: Novosi near the camo lapel. Smiling at the comment, she nods in my general direction for record. Why would she have to be jealous of me? I'm not a threat. I hardly knew how to kill a spider when I saw one lingering on the window ledge this morning.

"Speak for yourself, Alena." Unfolding her arms, Karina makes an effort to retract the current blunder against her weakened ego. "You always had a soft spot for sob stories." Nudging her way through the crowded corner, her pride sat on the sidelines of the argument. "Hers being the worst." Motioning for Anya to pledge her rightful place beside her, she freezes.

Anya stays next to my side, deciding on the odds. Alena left her palms situated on her hips in a manner of persistence. My gaze lifted up to Karina's as she continued to bite her lip. Nothing upset her more than the fact of failed compassion. "You shouldn't have to judge people like that." I say modestly while she rubs the comment off her forearm. After the incident played out, she reconciled her belief system.

"That's what were made for soldier, judgment." Her foot pivots away from the three of us as she tromps off in the opposite direction. Like a deflating balloon, we all let out a breath of diffused air.

"Is she always like that?" I ask them.

Alena and Anya look at one another with a confused and bemused expression plastered to their faces. "Always." They state in sync together. Allowing a laugh to escape from my lips, the overhead speakers blare over the serene contentedness.

At first, a loud screech sounds, causing us to flinch while covering our exposed eardrums. "Training will commence in ten minutes."

"Shit!" Alena bursts with an exaggerated gesture. "I forgot my badge."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Yeah, if you want to be punished for being locked out of the Red Room facility for an unsuitable form of identification." Anya motions to the monitor at one of the doorways.

Wincing at the information given, I proceed to cross examine. "I thought all doors needed just the identification number and a retinal scan to gain entry?" Unless, I'm mistaken.

"They do." We race down to the end of the hall, waiting on the her guided direction. The further we walked, the more tense we became. Time was ticking and how fast it was consumed worried us. "But, the training facility has a mandatory identification card for beginning agents like us. We can't gain access without it."

"And, if you miss a training session without proper permission, they terminate your position." Anya finishes after the conclusive rules and regulations. Scratching my scalp proved temporary for an itch. "Here," She hands over a clip and elastic band. From the breaking stop, I pin my hair back into the average bun much like Alena's resembled in conformity.

"Wait here." Dejavu followed her order as I grudging sat with my back against the wall.

If I could blend into the stone brick layering the temple of deceit, it would read relentless in my proceedings to demolish purposeful faith. "Shouldn't you be down in the Red?" My forehead lifts from the confrontation much to find the young gentlemen dressed in the same attire as Agent Volkvov.

"I was just heading there-"

"-five minutes." Examining his wrist for the dial of time, he wagers the insinuation. "Let me guess, you can walk through walls?"

Eying his simple sarcasm, I made contact with my knees to lift upwards off the floor. "No," I respond honestly.

"Good." His chocolate eyes batted their charm in withered expectations. "Because I can." His arm extends its reach out towards me as I grab a hold of his confident demeanor. "Follow me."

After we reached the dead end of the hallway, I noticed the break in his gaze. Awkwardly, I stared at the blank canvas made of brick and stone. That was, until he pushed a single button, which lit up a vibrant fingerprint confirming his entry. Following him made me hesitant. Already, I had run into a pretentious commander revealing my less than convenient reminder of tardiness. Not to mention that I slammed one of my potential companions into the tiled floor only minutes ago only to have her graciously accept my sincere apology. And to be scathed by another fellow trainee who mirrored little than above exceptional performance upon mine. I'm starting to think luck left my side long ago.

Another entry way made the two of us pause in a haste. "Two minutes. We can make it." Yeah, that or my lungs could give out from the running. How was I suppose to maintain stamina in training if I could hardly keep my breathing relatively normal now? It seemed impossible.

"Wait," A hand goes up to make him pause. "Why are you helping me?"

He pauses on an answer. "Tell you what soldier." Leaning in closer to inspect his response, his lips part. "If we make it to the Red, in about-" Glancing back down at his watch again, he justifies his methods. "-a minute in forty-five seconds… forty-four, forty-three, forty-two-"

"Alright, let's go." Finally, even though I attested to his urgency, I gazed back at the emptiness in the hallway. I expected Alena and Anya would be already at their destination or close to it if we were. They would surely understand. I hoped they would.

* * *

When we reached the final destination to the Red, the monitor wedged inside the frame of the wall counted down from thirty seconds. Our faces were continuously flushed from adrenaline. Still, he motioned to the clip on my lapel.

"Your identification card," Breathing out in a huff, I follow his order by sliding it into the side frame. The button glows in a vibrant, fluorescent blue as my thumb presses against it.

"Scan complete. Agent confirmed." The machine states as I watch the numbers continue to drop. Twenty-five seconds were left.

"What are you waiting for?!" The commander yells back at me in a frenzy.

"My friends-" I begin.

"-will be given the same punishment if you don't abide by the rules, Agent Romanoff." Our eyes meet at the crossroad between the level of entry. "Look, it's not your fault if they don't make it. If you don't go now-" Interrupting was a part of my nature. The clock read twenty seconds.

"Why do you care?" I still didn't remember who he was. Worse yet, how could I find so much strength to trust him up to this point.

"I'll be the one carrying out your punishment for tardiness." Shaking my head appeared redundant, but it was also the trouble that seemed to be attracted to my character. Abandonment is not something I condone on a daily basis. Loyalty should be the absolute goal to strive for.

"There they are!" I scream with excitement.

"Can we enter now?" The sliding door opens on demand, offering a glow into the hallway. His arm rests over my shoulder, leading me onwards into the Red Room training facility.

If I didn't know any better, the room was cloaked in multiple equipment, tinted with the color red. And, the blinding light from before, which dilated my pupils, finally adjusted to the rest of the space. It looked like a school gymnasium, only on steroids.

"Dubkova, Novosi," The commander claps at their belated readiness. "I see you made it in the nick of time."

"Yeah," Anya glares over at me with curious eyes at our postured stances. It was then that I realized exactly how close we stood next to each other. So, I took a step towards them and away from the debonair soldier with dark eyes. "Not a second too late either."

"Where were you?" Alena mouths out of earshot.

"I didn't have a choice." They both roll their eyes in consideration of the actual event. "He ordered me to go with him."

"Doesn't matter, Nat." Alena spouts. "We're prohibited from fraternizing with our trainers." Anya nods in agreement to the previous statement.

"Why?" I ask, not intending for a specific answer. "I wasn't doing anything but trying to make it on time. Remember that punishment thing they mentioned before?"

"You should have been late then." Anya scuffs while stealing a gaze over at him once more. "At least, then you would be putting Michail out of his misery. Honestly, he never talks to anyone outside training."

"Anya, you can't think-"

"Oh," She starts with an index finger raised in front of my nose. "I can do more than that."

"You do look flushed in the cheeks." Alena contributes to the conversation. I shake my head in denial.

"It could have something to do with running around like a madman." I explain sporadically.

"Mad and man would be one way to put it." Anya mutters under her breath.

"Come on!"

"Alright trainees," My back turns to face Agent Volkvov as he speaks above the chaos. "Sorry if I interrupted your conversation, ladies. I hope it wasn't anything important."

"No, sir." Alena and Anya repeat together. Then, his gaze falls upon me. Michail looks to him and back at the scene.

"No, sir." I respond non-chalantly.

"Great. Dubkova, partner up with Svetlana and Uriech." Nodding off to Michail, he shoves a single pat to his back. "Think you can handle Romanoff, Novosi and Vasillisa, brother?"

"What?" Brother? As in his actual blood, is what he meant? My widened eyes read all too surprised given the odds. Not that I recall how I had disgraced the training commander. Surely, he shouldn't hold a grudge against an operative agent under his guidance. Anya covers her mouth at the placement. Not that there wasn't humor to be discovered in the act of ignorance.

"You're up first, Agent Romanoff." Michail orders while I hesitate through the disturbance. Alena removes a comforting hand from my shoulder as I took a step forward. "Here," Handing over the firearm into my palm, I flinch involuntarily.

"I-I can't." I stutter, trying to offer it back to him.

"You always do this, agent. I don't want to hear some excuse towards compassion despite bloodlust."

"I don't want to hurt anyone." A laugh escapes Karina's mouth before she conceals its contents of sound from the commander. Noticing the rest of the groups scattered around the facility, their weapons were aimed at a cut out of a shadowed human-being.

"It's just a piece of cardboard, Natasha." He whispers off record into my ear away from the bystanders. Bangs echo throughout the room as one. The silence in between the repetitious shots caused me to blink in union with the noise.

"Well, I can shoot a piece of cardboard, Commander Volkvov." Karina suggests a turn. Eying her, he pauses his training.

"Agent Novosi,"

"Yes, sir?" Alena answers back.

"Keep Agent Vasillisa quiet, please."

"Yes, sir."

A snicker erupts from Alena before Michail focuses his attention on me again. "Don't think of hurting someone. Think about that someone causing the hurt." The sweat from my palms slide their way onto the cold, metal surface of the gun once more. Swallowing, I focused on the target in front of me. Michail releases his hand from my shoulder to stand back and observe. I couldn't find a reason to push the trigger. Feeling this, the commander steps forward another time. "Your mission agent, is to survive, to help your fellow partners survive." Bracing the barrel upwards, my balance remains in place of his message. My eyes narrowed in on the main target. A cough escapes Karina's mouth during the training. Michail leans in closer to whisper the founding piece of information into my ear. "If you don't shoot, if you don't kill, you won't survive and neither will they." Multiple gunshots erupt from my weapon as they embedded their impact into the cardboard. Another round goes off followed by a ascending level of quickened pace as the bullets exited their chambers on command. Michail grins in satisfaction while registering the notes on his clipboard of the final mark. "Excellent."

"Lucky shot." Karina mutters underneath her breath.

Alena rolls her eyes at the comment. "More like: 'lucky shots'. Did you see how many penetrated that thing?!" Waving off to the cardboard with an outlined silhouette of a human being, I saw what she meant. It looked as though he didn't have a chance in survival. All the holes were marked in various spots in which the main arteries and organs would be in a normal anatomically correct being. Deadly, indeed. I never factored in the precision to which the bullets marked the chest, head and abdominal section. "Have you seen how many rounds it takes for anyone to just hit one of the red zones on the human body?" Suddenly, the audience was captured around us.

Michail just smiled with a subtle pride in his demeanor. Before I had a chance to return the favor, Nicholai rushed over from his training group to admire his own sarcasm. "Impossible." He snuffs with folded arms. I bit my lip in reaction to the remark while attempting to hand the gun back to my trainer.

"Believe it." Michail boasts, puffing his chest out.

"I don't." His arms flail about his structure. "I've never seen an agent with such empathy and compassion annihilate a target in less than ten seconds of firing the first round of a gun. They don't exist is all I'm saying."

"Well, she does." Michail retorts proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And, she's one hundred percent lethal." Glancing at Alena, she smirks at the statement while Karina purses her lips.

"Is that suppose to intimidate me?" Nicholai spouts.

"It should."

"Ha," His fake laugh made my fists clench into tight balls. Who did he think he was? "And, why's that?"

A single bang crosses the threshold between the two as the bullet sinks into Nicholai's vest near his most vital of organs. His eyes widen upon impact as he stumbles backwards. "That's why." Michail suggests out of spite of his brother's pure ignorance. Alena covered her mouth while Karina's remained wide open in shock. Looking back between Michail and me, Nicholai's glare sizzled in distinction. Lifting the barrel upwards, I stand in an unbreakable pose of solidity. Nothing he said would intimidate me, and nothing I did would allow me to think differently.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _This chapter follows the events years after Natasha wakes up from an episode where she can't recall certain memories brought from her past. Romanoff re-discovers her talents, which is something that takes an extreme toll on her natural abilities to retain human emotions such as compassion. Since the Black Widow Operative Program trains them to respond differently to situations compared to the average person and their logical pursuits of defensive strategies, she must fight against reprimands placed by her adequately contrived trainers. _


	5. Before I Kill 04 A Deceitful Truth

_**A Deceitful Truth**_

* * *

I sat opposite to my current mentor from the training facility. Focusing on rotating my thumbs around each other read indiscreet yet probable. There had to be a better, more mature, understanding to their rare form of punishments. Still, I fidgeted with the identification card latched onto my lapel. When I mustered up enough courage to meet my opponent face to face and eye to eye, he confronted the distinguished silence amongst the room. "I know Nicholai can sometimes be-" Michail recites first, but I don't let him finish.

"Arrogant? Conceited? Dishonest?" I question back, folding my arms over my chest for good measure.

After the news traveled of an intentional threat imposed on a training commander, my arms had been fixed behind my back for cautionary pursuits. Assumptions preserved the rightful command of placing me under arrest for the action I had taken despite the reference to what caused it in the first place. Anger foamed near the valley of resolute animosity in which I catered the responsibility of providing an alternate change of revenge and deterrence from the commander's brother. Every tissue in my body wanted to rip him into tiny, insignificant pieces because of his undermined, chauvinistic attitude towards my coveted emotions.

"That's what you see, is it?" Ringing out the rage through the released handcuffs splintering behind the back of the metal chair, I smirk an intriguing notion of acceptance. What else could I have noticed about the man? That, his brother alone, accessed the same amount of genetics in such a way that I should be repulsed by his nature as well. I would have loved to believe that thought, but it didn't take much liking into considering that fact of truth. So, I leaned back in the chair, watching the lamp overhead cast a ominous glow about the room as it swung slightly to the left and then, right. Michail sighs and then renders the verdict aloud. "Of course, why should you, of all people, remember anything different. Especially, after what's he's done." Instead of a question, it came out more like a statement.

My brow furrowed at the news he offered. "I have my gut to sort out my feelings for me. I don't need you to tell me how it is." A second before I was hauled away from the Red, I began to spit obscenities out at the commander. Things I didn't understand myself. Because in a way, I hadn't forgot. And, all the same, Nicholai gave an absurd look of terror like he regretted the one decision that left me clueless amongst the rest.

"No, you wouldn't." His genuine smile that always flitted across his facial features, making him seem light-hearted gave way to a new coldness. He would defend his brother as long as the reason suited his indifference to the situation. "Ivan's been the only one you would ever talk to, given the situation at hand."

"Got that right." I retort smugly, tilting my head to the side for clarity.

"Why do you trust him?" He asks bluntly.

Instantly offended, I offered a simple response. "Because-"

He interrupts. "He's all you know. At least, about your past."

"I don't need the memories." Sucking in a breath of defiance read distant at last. "I'm alive now. I have a future and surviving what lurks amongst the shadows of war is the only thing I care about. You won't convince me different, Commander."

"Unbelievable." Michail subdues, settling back into his chair to study me. "I swear, every time you go rogue, very little of who you were when I first met you vanishes…little by little." My eyes widened at the suggestion of being untamed around the underground militia.

"I'm not rogue!" I shout back.

"Course not, Agent."

"I'm not. I'm-"

"Perfect?" His eyebrow rises to the point. "You're the 'perfect' weapon."

Shaking my head, I protest to his judgment. "That's not true."

"That's exactly why you've advanced this far." Waving a arm out to the sliding door exiting the room. "It takes years upon years to peel away the subtle moral hidden inside the brain. I saw it today when I handed you the gun. You refused to shoot at a target." Tension brewed beneath my skin, making it somewhat warmer with the insulted slight against my reaction.

"Thanks for the encouragement." I mouthed under my breath.

"You were yourself before training. Don't you see what they do?"

"No, I don't." I persisted on the ignorance for comfort.

Perching his arms back onto the table, I shrugged with prosperity towards his explanation. Convince me I'm a mindless robot under the control of something bigger than the two of us. "They condition your expertise. They want you to react without thinking back. So far, you have progressed further than any other operative in the program. Why do you think that is?"

"No idea." I shake my head.

"Because of your ability to accept the past for what it was." Michail states intently. My eye contact failed to connect with him during the argument, or enlightening conversation being held at my fingertips. I wanted out of the disruption and to begin preparing for the next round of training.

"My past is over, Michail." The slouched position I had held during the conversation transformed into a stiff posture in the uncomfortable chair. "I don't intend on digging up old, meaningless tragedies for the sake of my humility. Understand?"

"You're not digging, Natasha." Turning around to face him after I had gotten up out of spite of his speech, I found myself frozen on his words. Narrowing my eyes at him, his gaze stabilizes on mine. "You're scratching. Piece by piece, you're tearing off the veil encasing the wall they created for your sanity. One day, you will have the answers you have fought so hard to reject. And, all those memories that you refuse to accept will haunt your subconscious state of mind for years after you discovered that what I'm telling you right here, right now, is the most important, and vital, information you'll remember."

Biting my lower lip, I licked the exposed substance that tasted of blood. "You don't know me."

Saddened eyes retreat back to his clenched hands as he resisted the phrase. "Neither do you."

* * *

"Agent Romanoff," The sliding doors retract back into their frame while General Mullova invites herself into the room. "Please, have a seat." Michail stands up immediately from his chair to salute her. Behind her, trailed Nicholai and Ivan. First response to Nicholai was utter disgust, but he dismissed the gesture amongst other things. Upon meeting Ivan, a smile spread across my face as he patted my back and motioned for the chair I had just gotten up from. "Any progress?" General Mullova asks Michail quietly on the other side.

"Negative," He responds curtly.

"Well then, we'll take it from here. You're excused, Commander." Saluting one last time before he left, I found Michail to have a pained expression pinned to his muscles as I observed his determination to abide by her command. I didn't want to trust what he had spoken earlier because if I did, it would mean I accepted the reality he wanted me to see. No one in the facility was my enemy other than a disgraced Commander who went by the name of Nicholai Volkvov. And, the surname was enough to make me resent his brother as much as his actions.

"General Mullova," Ivan graces a gesture towards me with sincere repentance. "Mariya," A look of longing spread on Ivan's facial features faster than I had time to object. Eying the two, it was obvious she had a soft-spot for my surrogate father. Why though? "Let's release the form of punishment and call it a day. No harm was done."

"Pfft," Nicholai sputters from his lips. Again, my fists clenched underneath the table, away from the prying eyes of the General and Commander.

General Mullova glances at Nicholai for a moment, offering a stance of stability in the matter. "I believe you have something to say?"

"It was intentionally done, General." Pursing my lips proved I had contracted a virus of Karina's sour attitude. "She purposely aimed the weapon, intending to kill."

"I did not!" I protest, but Ivan calms my objection.

"All things considered, Commander, you had a bulletproof vest on."

"Because of regulation standards, I did." He interjects.

Ivan presses the innocence further by placing his palms to his lips. "So, you're saying she intentionally shot a target, knowing you did or didn't have a form of protection?" Trickery was his specialty. Even the General eyed the soldier for a second to correlate the circumstances to which the incident had played.

"It was a threat." Nicholai states roughly.

"You pressured me to shoot at a target other than cardboard." I mumbled.

"You could have shot anyone else in the room." Huffing out the answer he really wanted everyone to hear, I growled in union with his remark. "Hell, Michail was standing none two feet away from you. You hate him more than you hate me, Agent."

"Is that true?" General Mullova confides in the information.

Looking between Ivan and Mariya, I didn't expect to answer such an intimate question. "He's not exactly on my good side." I admit while Ivan smirks, hiding the action once I meet his gaze. "Neither is the Commander who pressured me to fire the weapon out of anger. I was reacting on instinct, which is a part of the program. I felt threatened by his comment and I made a decision based on it. Why should I be in the wrong for that?" Concealing the tracks of my involvement in the punishment appeared to be easy upon manipulation. Mariya tilts her head to the side, listening to my side. "If he really felt threatened by my demeanor, he would have disarmed me long before the shot was taken. Anything after that was consequently in his wrong for failing to be observant." Glaring back at the pitiful victim in front of me, he cringed at the gesture. "In the real world, you would be dead, Commander Volkvov."

Clapping on the other side, General Mullova releases the tension in the room. At that note, it had built itself a considerable gap in the middle of the table. Ivan coughs into his fist. "Regardless, Agent." She begins, and I slouch backwards again. Anticipation of punishment is far worse than any other present at the facility. "You should never shoot a commanding officer during training." A smug smirk spreads across Nicholai's face which made my stomach turn. "But, she brings up a valid point Commander Volkvov." He freezes in the celebratory lapse of judgment. "If you felt threatened like you said before, you would have disarmed her long before the shot was taken. Therefore, I have no choice but to punish you both." Oh, how the words conveyed such sweet, sweet irony. His smile faded quickly from his expression. Impossible to imagine quite a disregard for safety regulations but common sense? Come on, now. He should have known better. "Report to Commander Michail Volkvov in the morning." Ivan stands to salute her as she makes her way to the sliding doors. The look on both our faces fell flat in shock. How cruel could she have been to place us in this punishment? And under the brother of the one soldier I despised in the whole place?

"You've got to be kidding me." I say, unable to unhinge my jaw from its dangling state.

"She doesn't kid." Nicholai retorts solemnly. Damn, tough break.

"Consider this a learning experience." Yeah, because so many of those put teenagers like us in a greater mentality of morality. I give up on expressed feelings. It's better to be a rock, than having someone always changing, always molding you into different versions of yourself. I'm not one to budge.

Ivan winks before offering a salute in my direction and then Nicholai's. "Good luck." Suddenly, a bad taste was left in my mouth from the seating arrangement at the table. Nicholai continued to stare absentmindedly over at my side, not saying a word.

"What?" I finally ask out of annoyance.

"Nothing," Was all he had to say in midst of the circumstances. In a way, I felt the cold slap of responsibility for the punishment, causing the two of us to bond in an ever closer way. Given the record of split second theories, I complied with one: we were mutual enemies once before.

* * *

"Wait. Wait. Wait." Rolling my eyes up at the order, I attested to the shared knowledge of commitment. "Let me get this straight." Anya banded her courteous brown waves into a tight bun before proceeding to break from the punching bag. Her boxing gloves were raised in the air as she soaked up the last sentence. "You shot Nicholai?" A smile spread onto my features at the mention of the event. Then fell as I recalled the outcome. "God, I miss everything!"

"Really, because I thought he was your trainer?"

Pouting her lips, she revealed little to the imagination of a damsel in distress. "Nature called. I answered."

Alena laughs, coming up from behind us. "The one time you couldn't hold your bladder during training, and Nat, here, creates a spectacle of herself."

"Hey," I interrupt defensively.

Another soldier partnered up with Anya during training rushed up to the threes of us. Urgently, she spoke in a rapid pace. "Michail's outside the hallway talking with another Agent." Steadying her voice, I noticed her sewn tag on her camo shirt read: Uriech. "It looked serious, Nat."

"Did you hear what they were talking about, Sasha?" Her name gradually entered the recollection within my brain. She was another soldier under my loyalty of position, the same as Anya and Alena. Karina, I couldn't speak for in terms of that bond. Perhaps, maybe before my amnesia happened this morning. For I could muster, she could have been the most reliant of them.

"Something about something that she doesn't know." My face contorted to one of confusion. "That's all I could differentiate through the walls."

"Great, more secrets." I mutter. Anya gives a silent bow of grievance.

They knew it was bothering me about what continued to pop up every time I turned around. People and faces I had met once before but couldn't place. Things and events that happened in contrast with those people and faces that I couldn't remember. All of it meant it was slowly driving me over the edge with frustration. All I had were a few close people around who knew who I was before things went haywire. In the back, way back, of my mind, I thought about what Michail had said about 'conditioning' and how it was their way to 'control' certain aspects of my character. What if he was right, and I was the one in denial because I was just simple trained to expect that of my defenses. Half of what I considered amongst the truths was that Ivan had taken care of any speculation that dawned on the operative program of my past history. It wasn't important to know that the rumors were just gossip and that, amongst the priorities that settled in the crevice of my actions, I had rebelled against the very facility that had protected me all these years. Because as General Mullova saw it, I had dishonored, in the most crucial of ways, which deserved an explanation.

Instead of brushing off the resented compassion from the group, I sailed to the other side of the room toward the sliding doors, persistent to end the unknown. I wasn't going to allow myself to be kept in the dark any longer. I wanted answers, and Michail had them. I just feared the injustice that would ultimately follow my own advice. Don't fraternize with the trainers. Well, he wasn't just a trainer anymore. He was a Commander relaying out the punishment I would soon be given based upon my reaction to a stupid comment.

"Nat, don't." Sasha gripped my shoulder before I had a chance to push my thumb against the glowing button for verification of exit.

"Don't tell me what to do." The grip tightened further, causing me to peel her hand in the most painful of ways. "I know you're my friend, but this isn't your fight." Her arm twisted against her back in utter discomfort while Anya and Alena forfeited their practice to join the reunion. "I want answers." Just like that, I released her from her imprisonment. The other two soldiers held her in content, away from my disarming gesture. They didn't want to get involved seeing as I had one thing on my mind.

"Commander Volkvov." I state deeply, impending on a displeased notion of response. His hesitation grew instantly like a shell of armor formed around his entire body before he motioned around to face me. I couldn't be that intimidating. I barely stood above five foot one. It must be the red hair. "Can we talk?" Out of earshot from any intrusions, the hallways remained barren and neutral.

"About what?"

"About my past."

"Your past is over, Agent Romanoff." As I so sorely put it, it about made me slap myself. Ignorance is a terrible trait to bare.

"Understandable," I nod, distorting our indifference to each other. "But, there's a lot I can learn from it." His combat boots pivot in the opposite direction to walk down the hallway. Running at a fast pace, it became clear that what he had mentioned before was a fluke. He believed in answers as long as the program believed in keeping them secret. "Wait." Clasping a grip onto his shoulder stopped his footwork. "So, all that stuff about morale is lost on you now?" His neck rotated in my direction before gazing upwards. A giant bruise filtered its placement across his cheekbone. Colored in a purplish velvet, I cringed at the first sight. "What happened to you?" I ask concerned. His head hung lower than normal, debating the correct response.

"Leave it alone." His vocals strained on the command while I persisted.

"No, I want to know who did this?" Again, his feet began to turn. Instead of letting him go, I reached for his blazer, yanking him back towards me. "I'm serious. Who did this to you?" Gradually, I could feel the heat burning into my cheeks at the matter.

"You're one to be stubborn, Agent." For the first fleeting restriction of emotion, I saw a smile creep into the corners of his mouth.

"Tell me, then." I demand.

Slow to respond, he reconsiders his options once more. Either he released the name to my liking, or I would force it out of him. "Ivan." Michail's voice crackled at the tone it represented.

My hands flew over my mouth at the name. "Ivan?"

* * *

"Ivan?" Questioning his answer again, he huffed out a breath of hot air. "He wouldn't throw a punch at just anybody." After I stated this, Michail's jaw tensed slightly.

"He's not an angel, sweetheart." The mention of the pet name enclosed my hatred towards his blood relative. Any doubts were now conclusive.

"What did you say to him?" Eying his stance, he seemed pliable with the determined proposal.

Pausing on a vibe, he continues. "What he should have said to you from the start. What he should have told you." An arm outstretched on my shoulder, but I brushed it off at a twitch of hostility. When his fingers encased my chin, I froze in an instant. Like a statue, I had been carved in stone. Lifting a finger to protest his motion of intimate gestures, Michail disagrees with the clarity of rebellion. As of now, I was repulsed by his touch. Yet, I decided not to pull away, which in turn read volumes of difference to him.

"What is he hiding from me?" His thumb braced against my bottom lip, and I shuddered upon impulse.

"Everything, sweet-"

"Don't call me that." Pushing his hand away, we both snapped back into reality. Displaced with the motive, his gaze never faltered from mine. My face still felt warm to the touch as it flushed hotly. I wanted to remain indifferent to the Commander but deep down, there was a knot slowly clenching a tight fist underneath my chest. The rhythm of my beating in my vital organ raced concurrently with the movement of embraced desire. Somehow, it would not mend until I figured out my emotions.

"You don't remember?"

"What don't I remember?!" I started to raise my voice and then flattened the volume to a lower decibel. "What is it that is so important?!" What do you know that I don't?

"It's what Ivan wants for you." He spoke against his better judgment. His face fell with every recollection of whatever memory played through his eyes. The touch of his skin reduced its pressure as I watched him unravel. Beginning with one strand and then another, the disheartening feeling produced a bit of glistening tears into my eyes. "I guess we both have different expectations for you." Rubbing his face clean of the hardened texture tumbling down its rugged features, he whispers a lost regret. "This isn't what I wanted for you, but they won't discard the daughter of a traitor. In a way, it's a debt they know you'll repay through years of service. You sacrificed your freedom, your intelligence of the outside world and now, your truth of character." I was suffering unknowingly because I had been conditioned to think the way they expected me to. "As of now, that's all you're allowed to know."

"What? Why?" I questioned.

"You have all the answers locked away, Romanoff. You just have to discover them."

"How do I do that? I can barely recall the last two years of servitude in this place." The extreme notion of figuring out who I was became unclear. Michail was my knowledge about my past. He knew more than I had when I first woke up this morning. And if they had erased part of those memories from me, there wasn't many options in discovering what had been left behind. Nothing had been left behind. Except for the paper Ivan left me this morning. Why did give me a sketched outline of a random shape? Surely, the meaning had another purpose besides the one I doted on.

"Who's the one person you trust around here?" Michail asks sincerely.

"Ivan." I say with my mouth open. "Ivan has the answers I need."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Natasha begins to discover her own truth about the facility she hardly recognizes in the first place. But after about a couple of hours, her recollection amuses her remembrance. What she doesn't know about the past is hidden within Ivan's message. Michail has her best interest at heart, but his allegiance is to the Operative Program. What they say goes, and no one fights those laws placed underground. Unfolding the secrets kept from Romanoff's awareness isn't going to be as simple as she first thought. _


	6. Before I Kill 05 The Red Zone

_**The Red Zone**_

* * *

Pacing back and forth in the empty hindquarters, in which solitude manifested into a claustrophobic container, my thoughts began to weigh out their disharmony. What was Ivan keeping from me and if he was trying to prevent some prior knowledge from being clarified by alternate sources, why I would feel such disdain about my permanent departure from the subject? He either had the best of intentions in the operative program or the worst theory in the absolute, disastrous outcome from it. Either way, he had motives. Ones, in which I pretended hadn't effected me. Seeing the truth forged into the side of Michail's cheek informed me of Ivan's true character. Either truth, he had lies.

Grunting at a pause in my uniform step, I toss my arms to the side in order to release what tension was left. "How could I not see?" Another couple of steps to the opposite side of the room. Finally, I pause again only to shake my head in complete epiphany. "I'm stupid." So very, very stupid.

"Who's stupid?" Twisting around as the sliding doors separated, my inner being about smashed my face against the stone wall. I should really think about jamming those doors. Then, nothing could get in or out.

My mouth fell a gap. "No one." I say while avoiding eye contact with Nicholai. A moment of silence passed amongst the two of us before I sighed from relieved tension. "What do you want?" It sounded like I was annoyed with the fact that he was even breathing the same air as I was. Maybe, but it could have been the way he panned my posture up and down, not saying a word the entire time. Can awkward get anymore awkward? No? Great.

"I brought your Red slip." At first, he seemed shaky, but his expression read carefree with ease.

"Red slip?" What the hell is that? "What the hell is that?"

Taking a few steps around my bunker, he brushes up against the bureau where I had hidden the watch from earlier this morning. "Right, you've never gotten one before." A crease forms in the middle of my forehead from his tone. Apparently, I'm a goody-goody. "At least, not one that wasn't excused from court." The pounding in my chest grew slightly more aggressive.

"What do you mean excused?" I know I'll regret asking.

He fiddles with the chain on the lamp before continuing. "Huh, they sure cleaned house. Did you get to keep anything?"

"What?" Side-tracked, I kept a mental note about the previous question. "No. I mean, yes."

"What?" Nicholai asks.

About to blurt out the one piece of evidence I found this morning, I concealed its whereabouts on the tip of my tongue. "Nothing." Shaking my head with sorrow and sticking to the lonesome storyline appeared to be cake until he asked another question.

"So," He starts with a grin forming around his dimples. "You're telling me that they didn't let you keep 'nothing'?" Even I understood the hindrance within the tireless remark. Still, I managed to keep my shoulders perched back and my spine straight before I delved into the cover-up

"Yes," I responded firmly.

"Okay," Nicholai mutters under his breath while eying me with a disappointed look. Why does he always have to give that damn look? It's like he expects me to own up to contently trying to shoot him. Well, he's got a long wait in apologies if this is the first. "So," Pointing down to the slip of red paper with embossed writing on it, he coughs to clear his throat. "That Red slip is one of the most important notices you'll ever receive."

"Notice of what?"

"When our punishment will be." Walking up to my side, I flinch in a karate chop that Nicholai diverts with one flick of his wrist. Annoyed with the display, my eyes retreat back to the card. "You have to have this card to gain access to the Red Zone."

"Why?"

Blowing out a puff of air in complicated views, he flicks the edge of the card for good measure. "Because, this is what they do to rejected soldiers, Nat. Instead of training with fictional cardboard cutouts and punching bags full of sand, they give us the real demos." Suddenly, my breathing became rasp and the air extremely hot.

"Rejected?" I question. "I am not rejected. I'm exceptional."

"Except, you're not." He mocks.

I stick my tongue out at his comment. "What do they expect us to do?"

The fear placed in the back of my far corners of my mind disrupted the volume of arguing voices. "Well, it's simple." Sitting down on the cot, I turned to face his acceptance of the punishment. "They expect us to fight for our life."

Joining him on the cot, I found condolence in the matter. "Do all forms of punishment include the fight or die category on them?" After the first statement, Nicholai strained his neck to believe the words spilling from my mouth. What can I say? I'm a rebel. "Or is it just special treatment for people like us?"

"No, they don't."

An eyebrow raises in confusion on my part. "I don't understand."

"The circumstances are different for us yes, but they would never send an operative out into the field this early. Punishment or not, there will be blood spelt." The worried expression creased around his eyes as he pondered the catastrophe we had been thrown into.

"And, you're not worried about yourself?"

He looked off into the corner of the room and away from my gaze. "The first time was bad." Instinctually, my hand moves to coddle his shoulder. Bonding was never a great expertise of mine and yet, I played the part fine. "We could die, you know?"

"What?" No one said anything about dying. "Let me guess, we get to use real weapons." Laughing at the joke, his frustration began to wan a little.

"That, and instincts." He jokes back.

Denying the statement, I grumble at its message. "Nah," I begin. "I don't have those." We eye each other in the humor, smiling at the serious factor in all of this. "Sure hope someone who does has got my back, or we're both screwed."

Snorting, Nicholai concurs. "Even though I hate to admit you've got good reflexes, you've never, technically, shot me in the back." I cover my mouth from the giggle. "So, I guess I trust you."

"Maybe, I should have been nice and aimed for another vital organ rather than your lungs?"

"Why?" He spits out. "You already take my breath away."

* * *

Immediately, my jaw dropped. Impossible as it was to have the stress of becoming a personal toy soldier on a battlefield that offered little to no possibility of survival, I braced myself against the night stand to stare at Nicholai. "What?" What?!

Standing after the conversation, he makes his way to the door with a smug smile spreading across his face. Is this suppose to distract me from the known fact that we're enemies here? Because if that wasn't the intent, then I was completely flustered at the reality of what he had just said. What?! "Prep starts at oh five hundred hours. Don't be late." Pointing to the card on the bed, I jostle the contents of my strained lunch back into my stomach. Breathing became pointless. You hate me don't you? You must hate me.

Stalling for a second, I snatch the card to read the specific information. "Where is the Red Zone?" Asking seemed stupid until he paused at the sliding doors to verify my concerns.

"You'll find out tomorrow. Michail will escort you there." Before the doors slide shut, he entered once more. "Oh, I almost forgot." My bemused gaze lifts up to face him. "Ivan wants to talk to you before the mission. He said something like: only time will tell." Shock enveloped my nerves at the mention of the object in plain reprimand in front of Nicholai. Still, I pretended to know nothing about it by giving a curious nod and number of acknowledgment in the message. "Whatever that means." He salutes before disappearing behind the steel doors as they closed together.

In utter displeasure, I sunk onto the cot where Nicholai sat during the talk. I couldn't wrap my head around what had just happened. Better yet, I couldn't believe his confidence in blurting out such a line of intimidation. Not saying I was intimidated. I was deathly intimidated. How does someone walk on like nothing ever had been exchanged and expect for the other person to rely on what the future will bring? I didn't even know where the future was going to lead me. And, regardless of whether or not it would be kind in the favor of advancement and survival, I had other things crossing my mind other than senseless words such as taking someone's breath away. Next time, my motive should be more clear on reducing the amount of oxygen he inhales.

And, Michail, of all people! Did all the male officers have a sensitivity training or what? Because ever since I woke up this morning, all I've been getting is a bruised soul. Michail was mad when I didn't respond or confront him in such a sweet manner. Yet, all the same, it didn't wan on my emotional response to want to show, or act, upon those impulses of intimate displays of affection. What the hell was wrong with me? Nicholai was suppose to be a heartless drone of a training commander and here I was getting the impression that he had the most vital of organs receiving multitudes of vibes in my direction. What was going on around here? It wasn't suppose to be this way. I couldn't keep my thoughts straight.

My feet kicked off the solid floor to march directly to the bureau where I had hidden the watch. Somehow, some way, I felt it had purposely been left there. And, I had a good idea who might have left it there. Taking it out underneath all the neatly folded uniforms, I observed its contents intently. The round face was still frozen where it had been this morning. The glass was in impeccable shape as was the band which supported its structure. Upon touching it before, I hadn't released the black dust filtered onto my fingers from the grip I held on it. It was a silver band. Maybe it was tarnished from not being worn? Out of a sheer hunch, my nose encased the metallic smell and a hint of the odor framing its contents.

"What is that?" Continuing to smell the off-kilter scent, it intrigued me further. The black that had rubbed off onto my fingers contained the miscellaneous debris from the time clock. "Soot?" Definitely, something of ash covered the metal. "Strange," I mumble under my breath as the sliding doors flew open and I automatically placed the trinket in the small of my pocket for safe keeping. Standing straight and stiffening my spinal column, Ivan stood within my prescience. Underneath, I could feel my pulse tighten within the rhythm it kept as it resonated faster upon the stress.

"Agent Romanoff," He began, pausing at the red card and then looking back to me. My train of sight followed his concern on the mattress as I roamed over to the spot where Nicholai had imprinted. Grabbing the card and smoothing the bed sheet flat away from his knowledge, Ivan recites the speech he wanted to give me. "I understand tomorrow you are ordered to go into the Red Zone for your punishment." Wow, word spreads around faster than I have time to discover it. No wonder I'm always out of the loop on a ton of stuff going on around here.

"Yeah, no thanks to Nicholai." I sit down, intending to relieve the pressure from my knees. "Or Michail, for that matter. I tell yah, if they weren't brothers, it would be a lot easier to find a positive trait in one of them." Joking only seemed to raise another point to him. Frowning on the belated statement, I discovered Ivan to not have found it humorous at all.

"This isn't a joking matter, Natasha." Again, I felt perturbed at the insult of my naivety.

"I wasn't laughing, Sergeant."

Breathing out, Ivan consolidates the one truth I had been aware of the entire time. "You've been flagged as hostile, Agent." My eyes begin to widen at the extent of the word. "Or as General Mullova put it, a threat to the underground secrecy and disciplinary methods."

"That's absurd!" Raising my voice was the appropriate way to confront this bizarre theory. "I take a shot at a training commander whose expectation is to have me aim to kill and I decide to practice on a real life target only to get punished for showing my true colors-"

"Agent," He interrupts, but I'm too upset to confide in his argument.

"No!" I scream back. "I did what I was trained to do and if they consider that hostile, then what, exactly, are they training this army to prepare for?! Because it sure isn't war if all they expect us to kill is a cardboard cutout of a human being. Where's the real life experience? Where's the real battlefield in all this?!"

His head drifted to the ground after the yelling had subdued into silence. I could have been embarrassed in the way I chose to handle the situation, but it wouldn't have done any good to the tension building beneath all my armor. Finally, he spoke. "The Red Zone is your battleground, soldier." Ivan walks up to me while pointing a finger at the notion. "And, it's made of flesh, blood and bone." Gulping was a natural instinct in response to his words, but the lump remained caught within my throat. "The minute you chose to kill signaled your impatience to your commanding officer. You have no one to blame, and no one else to yell at other than yourself. You made your choice once before when this happened. I can only hope you come out of this alive because if you don't-" He retreats back to the sliding doors. "-this will all have been a waste of time."

* * *

After Ivan left, it was difficult to wrap my head around his final words. If danger lurked in the darkest of shadows, then why tell me they had their own weapons as well? It didn't change anything about how I felt. The slaughter would take place at dawn, and there was no plead against the will, and order, of the General.

But, several theories and explanations crossed the bridge of my brain. The Program deemed my father a traitor? Why? At least, Michail thought I deserved to pay off the debt no matter the cost. Why risk the chance of my survival if I owed more than what I was worth? Unless, I was convinced to be nothing more than a training asset. Did my skills matter if the first execution failed due to my compliance? Surely, Nicholai feared for my safety. Was it too soon to be a sacrifice?

The memory of the bullet exiting the chamber of the gun during training, flashes beyond my thoughts. It felt as though I had traveled back in time to the precise moment. The shock on Nicholai's face before it contorted into rage. Michail instantly stepped in front of me to block the smoldering fury. I had been blind to the trouble provoking the situation. Unbelievable, I thought how he contained his emotions from acting upon sheer impulse. If he really wanted payback, his shot would have been clear. But, he remained inside himself. The only movement coming from his breath rising and falling from his chest.

And then, just as he walked away, Anya raced up to his side to walk him out of the training facility. My face transcended into puzzlement. Michail still braced my shoulders, attempting to prevent the next shot from exiting the chamber of the gun. It became apparent that Anya's actions had out-weighed my trust. Her loyalty frustrated me so. Why did she care?

Michail's lips moved rapidly, as though he was trying to calm me down. Once the volume turned up on the sound, was when I understood what he was saying. "It's not worth it, Agent!"

"He thinks I'm weak!" My face puffed up at the statement.

"Trust me," Pulling me close to his face, I cringe. " That's the last thing he thinks of you. Why you think different is lost on me." Releasing my body after the sliding doors had closed and Nicholai was safe from any real threat, I stand back. A feeling overwhelmed my nerves; something beyond what I could control washed over me.

The barrel of the gun remained in the basin of my palms. Sitting there, I just stared at its features. This weapon was intended to kill. It was intended to harm. Flesh meant to be torn from bones, from muscles surrounding its frame of structure, offering mobility.

The training facility dissipated amongst the features within my eyes. Rain poured downwards in a constant state, revolving round the dirt and mud smashed under my combat boots. Looking forward, I saw the brunette curls of Anya ahead of our line. Smeared fingerprints marked my face from the gleam of my gun. I was distinguished by a mark on the side of my neck where an upside down arrow pointed at the ground. Wiping the liquid from my eyelids as they perched restlessly, gliding down my face and into my focused vision, I forged ahead.

"Romanoff!" A holler belted out at me. "Let's go!" Nicholai ordered me to capture the pace onward. Already, an anxious threat tore through my nerves.

Another flash caused my eyes to blink momentarily. The scenery had changed from the cold, harsh weather to a serene and peaceful room that, oddly enough, resembled that of the office Michail and me once quarreled.

"You blacked out on the way in, didn't you?" Anya asks worried that I had done it again. To appease her concern, I shuddered at the coldness creeping through the vents. An air so cool that the chill began to freeze anything moist with sweat or water, converting it into crystals of ice.

"I'm fine. I promise."

Her head shakes despondently in response. "Nicholai owes you big time. I swear, the next time he goes in guns a-blazin', he should wear a huge red target." An eyebrow raises while I watched her pilfer random documents into a satchel. "He's lucky we made it to the Green Zone as fast as we did. You should have left him, Nat. He's not your responsibility."

"Right," Feeling like I had ignored the subject completely, she clears her throat. "So, what are we trying to find exactly?"

"You did black out!" Anya screams out and then covers her mouth. Rolling eyes suited her stupidity of silence.

"Shhh," I growl back, listening to hear another sound. When I had confirmed absolute clarity, I continued. "Just explain what we're after, and I'll spare you the trouble of embarrassment from Nicholai. Deal?"

"Okay," She mutters. "Deal."

"Uh-hem."

"Oh," Realizing the other half un-written, Anya speaks. "There's a file or something with diagrams of machines, blueprints of machine parts."

"Machines, as in robots?" I question her.

"Yes, Nat." Annoyed, I sit back on the desk in the room. "The Russian government captured one of the inventors. Goes by the name of Stark, or something along those lines."

"What did they do to him?" Torture presented a most vivid image in front of my thoughts.

What if they had tortured the one man who held the American government up with an iron fist? A nickname suitable for a treacherous traitor with the threat of metal machinery. Did he really believe peace would follow his methods of destruction, or did his pretentious motives conceal his true demeanor of defense? He was the best they had, and we captured him. Now, his defenses were lost.

"Whatever was necessary to get him to talk." Of course, they had to get the information somehow, if not by force then by persuasion. I began searching through the filing cabinets on the other side of the room as she kept talking. "As the Russians say, actions speak louder than words." A laugh omits her mouth after the statement.

Out of the corner of my eye, the drawer to the desk appeared off in its setting. Investigating, there was a false bottom to which one slip of paper was wound around a watch. Unraveling its contents, the marked impression was watered through the material, causing a significant stain. "Stark Enterprises?" I say, not intending for Anya to be observing the slip behind my back.

"There's no diagram on it. Probably just some form of stationary stashed away in the drawer." She figures, offering a glance and then handing it back to me. "Throw it away. It's useless." But, I don't. Instead, I tuck in on the inner half of my jacket away from her knowledge. That same symbol was outlined on the varying coverage of my red hair at the nape of my neck. Branded almost, it seemed quite simplistic for a design. Suddenly feeling the irrational fear of being an imposter, I shovel the loose strands so that they encase the whole of my neck.

The room had grown considerably colder since our entry. "I think we should abort or search. We've torn this place apart, Anya." A gasp comes to her side as I shuffled over to see what she had discovered.

"This is it!" She screeches in delight. "Ah-ha! I can't believe I found it." Her lips kiss the frail paper over and over again. "I searched over this spot a million times. Gotta love secret compartments." As soon as she finished her excited speech, a crumbling boom escapes the hallways.

We both glance at each other, knowing the same. "Enforcement," We say in sync.

"Michail! Nicholai!" I yell over the loud noise, hoping they would hear. Nicholai senses my vocal pattern and turns immediately, but I don't see Michail with him. "Where's Michail?!" Questioning seemed redundant at this point. If they couldn't look after each other as brothers, then what good did they have in being related?

Nicholai's eyes roll in an attempt to soften the blow. "The ceiling caved in on our corner. We got separated by the debris. He could be anywhere." Or, he could be crushed underneath all the loose debris that fell when the bomb went off. Turning to leave in the direction of the rubble, Nicholai grabs my arm. "They're attacking from that flank. It's suicide, Nat."

Shoving his grip away, I concur his lateness in attitude. "He's your brother, Nicholai." His eyes well on the verge of tears and then subside into hardened gleams for emotion. "He wouldn't leave you behind." Anya had laced her arm through his, confiding in his stance which appeared to be leaning in the opposite direction. The direction of freedom in which Michail would have gone had his brother made one final attempt to rescue him.

"You're gonna get yourself killed." He motions while I pulled my sleeves up.

"Yeah, well, it's part of the job description." The subtle humor became lost on him before I looked back at the stone and brick crumbling in perishing heaps of ruin. "If I don't go, he'll die. I can't live with that on my conscience."

And just like that, the blurred memory from that moment in training shot me back two-fold. Where I was seated on the cot was a place of refuge. A terrifying realization anticipated my anxiety as I watched the stone and brick build up underneath my feet. A drop pelted the floor as I craned my neck up, tracing the lone scar hidden by my curls. The bulge in my pocket weighing on the trauma that blocked out the truth.

* * *

_**A/N: **__The Red Zone is the battlefield between the revolutionaries and the homeland. Where the Russian government seems to have sacrificed its citizens in a raging blood war, the Operative Program steps in. The secrets kept in their hands is what causes the war to rage on. If the Americans fail at retrieving their blueprints to the machines, then the war will be inexcusable. Natasha slowly realizes what she sacrificed for Michail and Nicholai and why her punishment is to enter the one place she fears death will prevail. At this point, red is all she sees. _


	7. Before I Kill 06 Russian Rogue

_**Russian Rogue**_

* * *

"Hey, Nat." Alena confronts me down in the hallway.

Distracted with my recent thoughts, the nape of my neck rose. "Do you know where Anya is?" I felt it was important to find her, given the situation. If anyone had the answers as to what happened out on the battlefield that day, she did.

"I think she's at the lounge." Her fingertip graced her cheek in reason. "She seemed spaced since training." Thinking back on the incident, I saw images of Nicholai flash across my eyes.

"Yeah," I begin. "There's been a lot on my mind too."

Alena stops her exit by putting both of her feet firmly together. "You know Nicholai hurt her, right?"

"What?"

Breathing out, she resorts to the repulsive nature of the past. "Well, she knew he was trouble from the moment she met him. I just never thought she would play his game." What game have they played? My eyes shifted back and forth from the analysis. Noticing the expression of being lost, her explanation extends. "You know when two people want to be together, but they know it will never work. So, instead of acting like adults about the situation and leaving each other be, they don't."

"Why would she put herself through that type of torture?" It seemed insane, all the same.

"Worse than torture if you ask me." She grins at the thought of pain. "She just never stopped caring."

All of a sudden, my chest began to pound with grievance. "What about Nicholai?" A solid urge of restraint rested at the back of my throat.

She looked off down the other direction, only to come back to my gaze of patience. Her lips parted and then closed once more. Then, her shoulders shrugged indifferently. "He cares for her, just not as much as before-"

"You're not gonna believe this?!" Sasha interrupts, her bangs flailing over her forehead from the exaggerated movement. "Karina went rogue. You should have seen it!" Both Alena and me create a separated path the size of a canyon between us. Our arms folded in union as we braced ourselves for the news. "I swear, if Michail hadn't held her back, she would have ripped Anya apart."

"Why did she want to rip Anya apart?" I ask, unaware of consequential answer.

"Does it matter?" Alena shoves past Sasha, pushing her shoulder out of the way. I stood back appalled by her reaction. "They're our friends. That's what matters."

Sasha watches her scamper off with the temper trailing behind her footsteps. "Something wrong?" She scratches the back of her neck, relieving the loss tension within the area.

"No," I retort, a sullen aspect to my vocals.

A caged red light illuminated above our heads, signaling an alert. The elastic band Alena had loaned me earlier gripped between my fingernails as I tore it away from my auburn roots. Part of me already suspected what I already knew. That, deep down, Anya was my worst enemy and not Karina. It all weighed on my mind as we jogged down the lone hallway towards the loudness of sound. Through the adrenaline, other soldiers dressed in their casual attire raced in the same direction down alternate wings of desolate barrens. Everything moved so quickly that blinking caused quite a confusion in the rush. I found myself slowly falling behind Sasha. Her crew cut faded as the distance grew between the paces.

"Watch where you're going!" Another operative bangs into my side, knocking me face first into the stone wall. The roughness from the texture mutilates half my face in a single scratch.

Drops of blood dripped in the form of a leaky faucet, slow at first and then, faster. Instinctually, my palm clutches the torn skin peeling backwards. My knees lose their ability to withstand the pressure of my structural capabilities. Sliding to the tiled floor, the walls begin to lose their shape and color, becoming mixed cascade of oil pastels on a drab canvas.

"Nat, I don't need your help!" Another splash of dirt explodes near his side as I picked him off the ground. The part of my face exposed to the explosion pelted rocks against my skin. Where my helmet didn't aid in coverage was exactly where the pain progressed in a manner of deviance. I could hear Nicholai shouting this phrase over and over, but it didn't register in my brain. For some reason, the natural instinct was not to leave him alone. I couldn't leave him for dead.

Once my hearing returned after the blast, I coddled his frame in my arms tightly. "I'm not going to leave you here." Forcing him to remain close, it frustrated his emotional state. It bothered him just by touch. "Anya can leave you out of spite, but I can't. I would never do that to a friend, or a fellow soldier."

Bombs were erupting our surrounding battlefield, making it difficult to focus on the issue at hand. We were suppose to get from point A to B without so much as a simple hindrance. Although, this wasn't a simple hindrance. This was personal, issue or not. Michail and Anya entered the destination none two minutes ago to provide a wedge between the security system and the warheads. When we departed, separated from one another, I looked longingly after Michail disappeared amongst the doors. How strained his expression was and how he couldn't control his urge to run back to me.

Nicholai senses the softness placed within my iris and confronts me. "You want to be with him, don't you?" Dirt clumps rain over our bodies, encasing my helmet with mud. My hand pushes the hard hat back into place on my skull, trying to buy more time before the response. How could I answer him? And in the right way? Some battle scars are worse than others.

"I am with him." His jaw tenses while he avoids my glance.

A haziness overcasts the recollection of the event. How Nicholai wanted to say more but just clenched his jaw shut more than enough times to resent the improvised conversation. I wanted to yell and scream over the noise filtering in and out of sync with reality. The blaring overpowered a common reception to meditating a peaceful tranquility amongst the calming mechanism in my senses. Those hacked waves of perception remained dishonest around their settings.

"Are you alright?" A fuzzy feature glided into my view. As my focus came into full function, the outline of the man's face revealed itself. "Whoa," His first response to the blood seemed exaggerated until I felt the gash. "You took a tumble pretty hard, huh?" There was a humor laced within his words, and I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"I guess I could be better." Standing up took some amount of strength beyond mine. His grip lessens on my arm as I brushed off the residue from my pants. "Just practicing for the Red Zone."

"Wait," His face bursts to life at my frustration. "You're going into the Red Zone?" An eyebrow raises to confirm the statement. "You're just so-"

"Young?" My arms cross in disgust at his attitude. "I've been out in the Red Zone before." I just don't remember any of it. That, I didn't add.

"Hard to picture your hair in the middle of all that action." He jokes, but I don't laugh. I was still massaging the part of my head that had made contact with the wall.

"Got something against redheads?" I ask, intending to feel offended. "Because, I can make a ton of noise-"

"How?"

"By breaking your bones."

His mouth fell a gape in disturbed shock. "Please," The soldier huffed unsuspecting in the result of the confrontation. "Don't hurt yourself, sweetheart."

Before he could even blink twice, I had my elbow wedged into his throat. The leverage restraining his conditioned breathing. My muscles tense further in a strengthened hostility. Fingernails scratched and dug into my skin, acting like razors against my flesh. I winced only in a point of weakness before regaining my command.

"Hostel," Barely, I hear him yell the status of my brutality.

"Shostakov!" Another soldier rushes down the scarce hallway. "What trouble did you cause this time?" He pauses, glancing between the two of us. My head rises to meet his observation. Once his eyes widened, I released the pressure around my victim's neck.

Choking back coughs, the soldier mutters under his gasp. "Crazy…hostel-"

"What did you call me?" Asking what I already knew just fed the anger building beneath my blood. Suddenly, my finger had a fistful of his hair twisted into my grip.

"Agent," His friend yells out, twisting my wrist behind my back. "Go get help. She's gone rogue." A red light flashes in our flank of the hall as I withered down to the floor. Tears fell from the corners of my eyes, streaming like separate rivers down the ridges of my cheeks. "Stay calm." He whispers, trying to smudge the wetness away before they hit the ground. "Just stay calm."

"Rogers," Shostakov appears off to the side as we observe the woman in white next to him. "She has to have the sedation."

"There is no other solution?" He confirms.

* * *

The corridor weaved in and out of focus from my peripherals. Rogers gripped my right forearm tightly, holding onto the resistance I fought against. We headed straight towards the scene that Sasha had prepared us for. By the time we had arrived, both Michail and Nicholai stood on opposite sides of the hall. They faced an imponderable hostility from Karina and Anya. My head rose slowly as we approached the dense damage of despair.

"Wow," Anya shot back at Karina during the break in her voice. "Why don't you send me a postcard when you get there." Michail pulled Karina backwards into his chest while Nicholai restrained Anya as well. To the side, I witnessed Shostakov cough into his fist at the situation. His neck had been bruised severely in wake of my angst. Noticing my gaze, his fell back to the fight.

"All is fair when love is war, right?" Karina sneered, offering a taste of her own medicine.

Everything I attempted failed as I twisted my arm around the soldier's grip. I would have thought his attention span to be waned by the interaction. Instead, it tightened further. Although I couldn't break the tie, the strength my body conveyed in a moment's notice prevailed along the lines of avoidance. Why couldn't I have freedom? If for just a final breath, without my wrists bound along with my soul, couldn't I have one last peace? The peace of knowing that I owned everything I was and everything I wasn't. That, deep down, I sought refuge inside my mind because it had been easier than confronting it head on with precise concentration. Instead, the wound still singed at the corners of its threads, lengthening and loosening all the same. Giving me hope, that one day, I would be eradicated from the binds that held me in. Because to this program, and its members, I felt as though I were just a slave. Just a lost burden on a path which had been lead by someone else instead of me. I was still who I was two years ago, right?

Sensing the irritation, Rogers face relieved itself from the tension serving his position. In wake of the predicament, he smiled. But, his eyes never faltered in their conceived rendition of what I had done. Somehow, his strength was matched by mine. "It'll be fine." He mouths as I turn to look over at Michail.

"War is what you always wanted!" Anya spouts. "Bloodshed runs deep in your family." Snapping away from Nicholai, she takes one step further. Minimizing the distance between her and her nemesis, she points two fingers in the air with her thumb held back as a trigger. When she levels it to Karina, her lips curl in sheer pleasure of the remark. "I can only hope it's inherited through your blood."

The second the last word is spoken, both soldiers tear back at each other. Causing the surrounding audience to revel in the revealing drama which unraveled before them. "You'll never survive in the Red! I'll put a bullet through your chest before you make it above ground again!" Even understanding Karina's anger towards one of my fellow companions, my fear highlighted when Michail realized my prescience in the room.

"Better make good on your word, Vasillisa." Anya took a deep inhale before spitting in her face.

"Code red, General Mullova." Rogers states when she enters the circle.

"I see," Was all she could muster after the awaiting detainees retracted the two troubles. "Been a lot of chaos since you woke up this morning, Agent." She directs onto me while I fall into line with the other men and their posture. My back stiffened at her current insinuation. Apparently, I'm worth more trouble alive than she would have liked. All the same, I couldn't bring myself to retort back to her. She held the upper hand that I would never have. If I dishonored her method of persuasion, her note would surely be a blueprint amongst the various records placed for my delinquency.

Motioning for Michail to step forward, he contests the incident. "They were hostel when I had already arrived. Neither of them were in a contained manner of rationality." His gaze circles the room and falls upon me while I stared straight, avoiding him. "Nicholai-"

A hand raises to silence him. "Nicholai has been involved in many things lately. Why do I get the feeling you're always there to clean up his mess?"

"He's my brother, General." Pausing, the shine on the side of his cheek flourishes in front of our knowledge. "His mess is my mess." A glimmer of emotion traveled across my eyes in the solitary state.

"Loyalty," The General states confidently. "A noble trait in man, but a fatal one in combat."

Our eyes synchronized with each other at the mention of the line. "I rather him be a man than a soldier." I comment behind her, offering another burden in her dismay. Michail motioned his lips to ask what I was intending to do. While I responded with the only thing I knew. "I'm protecting you." I mouthed as the General turned to face me.

"Men are flawed." She mocks. "That's why God created soldiers."

"Soldiers are made from the loyalty of man, General." Rogers retorts.

Behind the bubble, the lingering soldiers covered their lips from laughter. Dishonor was a definite ground for punishment. Even one of honesty gave little comfort to those who accepted to keep its notable quality. All I could do was stare at the one man who decided to fight that indifference of dishonor. How it traded its form for a suitable refuge such as a human made of flesh and blood. After all, we were still human. We still bled the same. We still hurt the same. We still remembered what caused the pain. His release from my arm proved his loyalty to the program. Michail snatched my body over to his as she closed in upon him.

"Mankind is reckless. We are the evolved race. The next generation-"

Rogers interrupts her. "Is that why you asked me to come?" Her mouth closes immediately. I buried in closer to the warmth radiating from Michail. Enough damage had been done along with our sacrifice. And, if the General didn't approve, then it was her own flaw. "To serve, to fight, to protect your soldiers in a war that sees no end?" The group that had dispersed earlier cultivates around our quarrel. "You will die without natural instincts because your emotions guide you. You can't just rip apart an entire being from what they know, what they lived for. Because they will always…always remain loyal to themselves, regardless of your influence." My face flushed when I realized his speech was directed at me, for me.

Seeing this, General Mullova clears her throat and excuses herself. "Very well, Captain." Wishing him the best luck would seem awkward after the spat of differences, but she contained her reputation by removing the soldiers from the room. "Take them to Department X." She orders them despite cause.

"Michail," Again, the heat behind my eyes filled to the brim with water. I was scared to leave him, and the world I was learning to accept again. "Don't let them do this." Anya and Karina are shoved by their company in order to follow the pack. He enclosed his arms around me, holding me tightly in a bind that seemed unbreakable.

"General," In the distance, I hear Rogers screaming at her. "You cannot treat them like this. They're human beings. They deserve-"

"They deserve to be disciplined for their actions." Anya's face contorts to one of anxiousness after Nicholai brushes by her side to escort her to the department.

"Not like this," He shakes his head.

"Their freedom is not in their possession, Rogers." She points out. "They will be stronger because of it." Another couple of commanding officers begin to hinder our efforts of solidity. As the push came to shove, Michail decided to push back. The first officer stumbled as the second took action to immobilize his advance of an attack. Watching him smash his face to the floor made the knot in my chest contract with a full force.

The last words I had spoken to Nicholai before running off into the opposite direction, leaving them behind to race after Michail. A stone crumbled from the ceiling, almost impaling my stature. I screamed for him to answer me in the darkness. A heap of rumble attached to steel beams covered the floor. Underneath, I knew he had to be immersed in the chaos. A moan comes to the side as I bolt in the direction of the noise.

"Michail! Oh, my god," I cried seeing the huge piece of stone wedged under half his leg. "I'll get you out. We'll get out of here." Beginning to push the rock away from him took some patience. It moved, just not very far. Every time I concentrated harder than before, trying to force some alternate force besides the one in which my body pertained to accept. Given the circumstance, I wouldn't accept less.

Breathing hard, his voice crackles as I paused in a state of panic. Another loud boom penetrated the walls, shaking the remaining stone about to cave in. "Abandon your mission, Agent." He states clearly.

"What?" I heard him. I just wished I hadn't. "I-I won't do that." Refusing his order, I attempted to shift the stone's pressure pinning him to the ground.

"You'd rather die then fight?" He coughs out.

Finally, the gap opened a little further upon the next budge before I responded. "I thought I was fighting."

The officer restrained Michail by pushing his head towards the ground. Maintaining pressure on his neck for insurance that he wouldn't fight back. Instead of the right sense telling me not to get involved, to let him just be considered rogue, it flashed back to the movement of the stone. How it took more strength than one man to succumb to expressing. That's when the wrong sense told me that rogue was who I was. Rogue was my freedom, and Rogers knew it.

* * *

"Make a move-" The soldier wriggled in discomfort as his wrist twisted slowly in my grasp. "-and I'll make sure it's your last."

"You won't win this." A little further prompt from my grip, and he howled in agony. An eye for an eye was fair, considering how he injured Michail's arm. He wouldn't have an arm if Michail hadn't told me to stop.

"He isn't our enemy." Michail coughs, standing to his feet and reaching out all five points. "He's following orders. Just like you did." The other officers escorting Anya and Karina started to back track towards our direction.

My eyes switched between Michail and the officers. Then, I focused on the captive in my clutches. Nothing I chose would have impacted the renegade act. Upon performance, it was an undeniable force. "What do you mean?" I ask the officer off record.

"What?"

"By we won't win this?" Continuing, I concur his previous response. "What do you mean?"

The other officer leaning against the wall motioned a sign that said he shouldn't explain. Maybe, that it was a bad idea to play with fire. At least, with fire, you have a shot at putting it out rather than engrossing it with more fuel again. First, he opens his mouth, then closes it and remains silent.

"Have it your way." The final crack in his wrist suited his cry for pride. He could have had it the easy way and just told me what he had intended for me to overhear. Instead, figuring on having me wrapped around his finger only worked when I didn't hold the advantage.

Laughing at the pain didn't ease the promise of resolution. Situating myself next to Michail, he wrapped an arm around me. "There's a reason they call it the Red, Agent. You're smart. I'm sure you'll figure why you're still alive." It felt as though a hole punched through my chest at the mention of longevity. A squeeze came from my shoulder as we stumbled the forged beating from the drones.

Sticks are such a cruel form of punishment. Break a man's wrist, and all Hell breaks loose. Survive long enough to endure the crushing blow to the side of my ribcage? Let's say, I stepped in front of Michail even though he ordered me to run. To go with Anya and Karina would have been abandonment. I didn't know what they would or could do. And, whether or not they would spare my life seemed pretty bleak after the first round. Spitting blood onto the white speckled tile sure read rebel in my book.

"Had enough?" Weak, I thought. They send the man with one arm to talk smack to the opponent that broke it. Must they have run out of options? "Smart might have been an understatement." Another blow curdles into my shoulder blade. Righteously, I hold back the scream. The other two men restrained Michail so he could watch them kill me. "Because this war isn't about guns," He implies, adding a reassuring smirk and nod to the word. "-or machines, or deadly assassins. No, none of those." His knees bend as he levels his face to mine. "It's about the cooperation of one man. I think you know who he is-" I allow myself to absorb his prying statement. "-or who he was, I should say."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sputtering the syllables, he smiles at the innocence.

"Your father, Agent Romanoff." Looking to the soldier whose name was Shostakov, he connected with the trace of surprise at this line. "He's one of the reasons this war started."

* * *

_**A/N:** The secrets behind why Natasha was sent into the Red Zone are captivated by the memories that complicate her current reality. Who she trusts is not the person who raised her behind a wall of stone. Who she wants to trust is someone she hardly remembers for the past two years. And when the daylight arrives, it will become a battle between what she chooses to accept as the truth versus how they allowed her to deny the facts. _


	8. Before I Kill 07 Fight Back, Soldier

_**Fight Back, Soldier**_

* * *

"You're a liar." I snap back, gurgling the remaining red leaking past my lips.

"Am I now?" He winks, siding himself next to Michail. "No one knew your father better except for Commander Volkvov." The sting from the wound churned a new pain. Had it been anyone else besides him. Trust became obsolete. "You do remember what brought him here, don't you?" Michail's face tensed at the line but refrained from the notion. "You don't. Such a shame." If I didn't believe they could do any real harm to Michail, I wouldn't have stayed as still as I did. They had weapons, and I didn't. Death was partially stamped on my forehead. Commander Volkvov realized this the second they dismissed Anya and Karina down the hallway with Nicholai. This was their fight they couldn't afford to lose.

"Our orders are to take them to the department." Shostakov speaks up in an attempt to divert the conversation. "We should follow through with them. This is not our fight."

The officer takes a step forward toward his fellow partner. "Your memory fails you, comrade." His head tilts back at me. A strange tinge of energy flowed back into my veins. The sedation was wearing off? The doctor used the whole tube, twice the amount meant for my weight. How had I stood awake this long? "The remains of your parents are still undiscovered." The gash on my cheek began to lesson its throbbing. A steel frame next to my side conveyed the miraculous healing process. The thin slice sealing its mark of separation dividing two halves. All that was left for evidence from the cut were smudges of dried blood.

Shostakov remarks against his words. "Have they found yours?" A sneer crosses his lips at the comment. "We've all lost someone. And, blaming all of it on one person doesn't solve anything. It doesn't bring any of them back."

"So," Michail opens his statement. "What's its gonna be?" Glancing back between the two soldiers, the officer resounds back to their original intent. "I'd rather spare your lives for the Germans. They can have their prey in the Red Zone." A push comes to my side from his foot. Almost knocking me over, I kick off the wall using only my heels. The rotational spin flipping towards my opponent. His eyes grew in size amongst the scene.

"I know, amazing right?" I laugh, smirking at Michail as the other officers resigned their position around us and opposite to the lone oppressor. "I really think that training's paying off well, don't you?" Nudging Michail's side, he flinches from the subtle pressure before motioning he was fine.

"Well, if it paid, think about an actual career choice." He mocks back even though the officer in front of us fought against sheer discretion of angst. "Which reminds me, Shostakov," Michail begins, offering a wave of the wrist in his personal space. "Anyway we can put this behind us? You know, move on without interference?"

The officer shifts his gaze to the hostel component to the matter. "We have to follow orders given by the General." Both Michail and me stare in automatic apprehension. "If we don't take you to department X, they'll over run this place searching for you, for your fellow followers. You won't make it above ground before they drag you back down. That is, considering whether you're worth dragging back alive." He was right. If we ran now, took our chance without prior commitment, we wouldn't even get a taste of fresh air.

"What do you want us to do?"

"You can't just let them go." We all turn at his phrase. The two officers restraining him tightened their grip before acknowledging his awareness of the compromise. "They'll consider us rogue along with them. Our punishment will be far worse than they could ever imagine past those doors."

Looking back to Shostakov, it was clear what his intentions were. "Officer Matveev, when you signed on for this occupation-"

"-I didn't sign on." He interrupts.

"My point exactly." Walking up to him, his posture shrinks while facing his former opponent. "None of us signed on for this. It was forced on us. All the training, the rules and regulations and even the disciplinary modifications made to our instinctual actions. None of us," Pointing around to the circle in the discreet hallway. "-asked for any of this. Yet, we follow in hopes that a better world still exists past those doors where bloodshed lies. We won't survive this war on pride, on prejudice, on discrepancy. The more we divide ourselves-"

"The more we refuse to confide in ourselves." I say, despite the curious glances at the response. "You have to take us to department X." Michail's reaction to the words was immediate.

"No," He confirms strongly. "There's other options."

Searching his expression for concealed anger, the only emotion released was contained within his eyes. A longing for sadness crept into its warm color, offering no sympathy for partake in withdrawal. Like a drug, he was overpowered with a sensitivity towards the addicting installment of its qualities. I stood aside, wanting to bury my face anywhere besides my palms. Instead of finding the darkness of realized debauchery from my own fate carved in the creases within my palms, my head disclosed upon the repetitious beating underneath his chest.

A blurriness overwhelmed my capacity for the natural surroundings. As if the moment had been captured on repeat in a distant point of time. Rewinding the embrace, there appeared to be an architecture to the dreamlike manner of the memory. I had just exited through the doors from the department after Ivan took leave, contemplating the condition of my involvement in the conversation. Watching him flutter out of view from the corner of my eye, a lone soldier awaited my prescience amongst the barren quarters.

"About time," Kicking off from the stone wall with his foot, he slowly made his way to me. "I thought I'd have to wait another lifetime before you walked out through those doors." His demeanor was pleasant yet intimidating all the same. Like, he expected me to be the center of his universe. A confused brow lifted at his appeared disclosure of affection as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. My muscles tightened in the second it took for his lips to breach my skin. Soft pecks reached the corners of my mouth before I opened my eyes.

The invisible barrier between us rose into place as I rotated in a practical spin with one leg planted firmly on the ground and the other crossed at the knee for balance. When his embrace had been separated by my twisted method of unraveling the strings tied between us, he stepped back a ways. Confused and hurt about why I had done those actions and why I continued to feel threatened by his approach. A blade erased the space within the air displaced between the two of us. For a fleeting moment, we were at odds.

"Nat?" His eyes soften on contact with mine. I knew his display of emotion was genuine; yet, I didn't want to risk the intention behind it. "You saved my life, remember?" I shook my head back and forth, denying his facts.

"How can I save someone I don't remember?" I ask back.

His shoulders finally relaxed after his confinement to the realization. "It's easy." He takes a crucial step forward into my space as I flash the weapon in view of his movement. "Well, for you, it was." Another step forward, and my body becomes more rigid than before. As if paralysis was a part of my inheritance, I withstood the compartment in which I harbored a dependency for answers. "I know who you are." His fingers intertwine around the blade as I instinctually plunge the sharp edge closer to his neck. Catching the quick defense, the sheer metal mirror hovers a hair over the surface of his skin as he returns his gaze over to me once more. Underneath, the heat from my face flushed in pure animosity. He undermined my attack with such simple words. "I know who you were." His flesh grazes the side of my cheek. My fingers clenched around the blade while he traced back towards my lips. I welcomed the departure from intrigue, caressing into the flow of warm reached the gaps in between my fingers.

Michail stood in front of me, awaiting my decision. Thinking I was delusional on impact was one thing, but he studied my reaction thoroughly enough to convey a coarse theory. My doubts were hindering on the mark left behind his shirt along his collarbone where the gash shone clearly in the light. "There aren't any more options."

* * *

"Don't do this." Michail grips my hand until I force myself to pull away. "You know what they've done. What they'll do." Still, my eyelids closed in union with his displeasure. All I could see was red; the warmth fading from his eyes because the thirst for blood, for the kill, was too addicting. A control against a greater purpose towards our free will.

He fell onto his knees from the open wound, clenching his neck with enough pressure to postpone the flow of the bleeding. Ivan rushes around the corner, noticing the smell of exposed flesh. His yelling became muddled from me to Michail as he attempted to lift the wounded soldier to his feet. I opened my mouth, screaming back at Ivan and his persistence to pry him away from the situation.

"Agent Romanoff," Captain Rogers enters the circle. "I have to escort you to Department X." Observing our alternate roles throughout the hallway, his glance follows Shostakov as he snaps his fingers to release Matveev from his restraints.

It was a strange out of body experience watching Michail stand still, accepting my path of reluctance to follow him. But in my own mind, all I could think was how could I follow a man who allowed my fate to be sealed many a time after the first entering. Now, it would seem he wanted the remembrance to sustain its tolerance in wake of the present danger amongst our army. If that were such a suitable conclusion to our current battle, at least, I knew the war focused on more than just freedom. Which form of independence, I wasn't aware of. As long as the memories added into one substantial weapon of injustice, we would always and forever be separated between the ground and sky.

Rogers led me down another lengthened corridor, controlling his breathing with mine. His pressure on my arm loosened along the way before I gathered the flash of uncontrolled anger surging through my veins. The patience of contempt countered the restlessness buried depth beneath my skin. How it made my skin crawl and me scratch continuously at its invisible binds, boundless in their entrapment. The lights cast overhead drew somber in their glow, flickering upon random shakes of movement. Still, my mind forced itself to remain contained within the disciplinary act of obeying. Like a good soldier is ordered, I obeyed.

Finally, the racing thoughts caught on the edge of my tongue. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" A sting of emotion captured the fret of tears teetering at my eyelids.

His voice grows after taking in a breath of air and clearing the silence after I had spoke. "Such a strong word for someone with that much fight." We pause at the intersection leading to the destination. "Don't tell me you've given up already?" My eyes falter to the floor for convenience. "You know, I gave up everything I was to be who I am now. Sure, there's things I regret, things I want to change. Sometimes, I feel as though I'll never be who I was suppose to on the inside because I've sacrificed too much from the outside. This war they want us to win, will only succeed in its purpose if we sacrifice ourselves." I tilt my head up at the last line. "There are reasons why they keep the past from us. History is the most influential weapon of all."

"You think there's a reason I don't know who I am?" I ask modestly.

"There's definitely a reason you don't know who you were." After pondering the thought of reclusive matter fogging the part of my memory I couldn't retain, he states this. "Strength is only found in the few who can render it efficiently against those who would abuse it."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

Guiding me to the main entrance of the department with the giant 'X' gleaming against its surface of steel, he concurs. "You'll find out soon enough. Good luck, soldier."

Turning to the sliding doors, I enter to face back at the open corridor. "See you on the other side, Captain." I salute, giving a reassuring nod and smile. He salutes, offering a wink in exposure to the nod. The doors shut, and I'm alone in the enclosed room awaiting the forewarned resolution to the never-ending fight with the operative program.

When the doors retreated from each other, the glow from the room revealed the two figures resembling my companions. Two of which I hoped still remained under my loyalty despite the circumstances with the arrangement. Some fights were petty and unimportant. Theirs had been anything but a distraction to the commanding officers. They expected this punishment far in advance to the event. Suddenly, the actions of Michail seemed conceited and unwarranted, given the memory of his fixation on my likeness.

If they wanted to brainwash us, to make us forget what they had done, it wouldn't be without a fight. Their brutality, their diluted compassion, their careless attitude towards disillusioned, disciplinary action. All of it read corrupt. And, I stood in the heart of it, staring back at my fellow operatives wanting to prevent their pasts from dissolving into the nothingness I couldn't refrain from.

"Anya! Karina!" I moved a step towards them before a couple set of arms confined me from the notion. They were both strapped to metal chairs with restraints around their wrists and ankles.

The woman in the long white coat and clipboard walks between the two chairs and into the spotlight. "You must be tired, Agent. Won't you have a seat?" She coos, forcing a whimsical smirk across her solemn features. A surge of hatred wound tightly around my spine, straightening the cord binding me to the action of obeying.

"I'd rather stand." I say, grimacing at the painful tension laced within my muscles.

Noticing the strain of motion, her behavior becomes slightly disturbed. "Are you sure she was given the sedation?" She questions the officer to my left who ran into me down in the corridor.

"Positive, doctor." Matveev responds, although the stutter within his vocals is present. He was worried, perhaps even sweating under the jurisdiction of his alleged drugging.

"How much?" The doctor asks menacingly while confronting him face to face.

"All of it."

After Matveev answered her, I saw Karina widened her eyes at Anya. Her blinking in union with Morse code. Anya's eyes reacted to the message almost immediate before she faced forward, describing the secret in perfect recollection. She blinked in replay of the message: F..I..G..H..T_B..A..C..K_S..O..L..D..I..E..R. Clear and concise, just the way they intended for it to be. Matveev retrieved the same note, looking from the doctor to me. He took a single breath before Rica-shading back into the metal drawers concealing medicines of sorts.

The second officer was quick with his defensive strategies. His arm locked around my neck, causing my circulation to slow immensely. In a panic, the doctor flings over to the metal sheet on the counter, picking out the needle with the drug. Twisting backwards and then under, his limbs snapped in the contorted movement of escape. He howled in agony, trying to reset his arm back into place. I wouldn't allow him to and instead, used the broken bone as leverage to knock him out. Withering on the floor in defeat, I felt a new pressure succumb to my neck. The drug invading part of my motor function against her plan.

"When it comes to survival, you'll always have a choice." The burn goes deeper, causing me to claw at her wrist. My nails dripped with red, not disarming the weapon of choice. "Choose to obey, choose life. Choose to fight back-" Stinging ensued as the tip of the needle burrowed deeper in the muscle tissue. Little by little, she pushed the end, emptying the cylinder.

"Choose death," I comment before Matveev renders her unconscious with a shock.

Still woozy from the injected drug, the dose worked its way into my legs. Wobbling forward, Matveev catches my fall as my cheek collided with the tiled floor. Shifting of shapes whirled about my vision, disrupting the information it tried to concentrate on. Matveev had already loosened the restraints on Anya and Karina enough that they could untie themselves before he kneeled down to my side again. I croaked in desperation for more air to filter through my lungs. An acidic substance waned through my bloodstream. Its pain was familiar in a sense of cruelty.

"Natasha!" He screamed, shaking my shoulder. Keeping me awake long enough that my eyelids refused to close due to the loud noise being invoked. Karina joined him at his side, watching and waiting the solitary confinement of the sedation. It remained strong at the moment, but neither of them knew how long its affects would last. Soon, I had begun to wish I had chosen death. "Focus on my voice."

"If she slips into unconsciousness, we'll lose her." Karina explains to him.

"And that's bad because?" Anya teases, wringing her wrists from the marks embedded in the skin.

Karina wavers between the two in the room, her face intense with distance at her remark. "Who else is gonna help lead us in this revolution? Because it sure isn't going to be General Mullova. She'd rather see us sacrifice ourselves for the good of the Russian civilians instead of fall allies to the Americans who began this war amongst our nations. You really believe she has our best interest at heart?"

A glance between the two read indifference. Anya shook her head back and forth, denying her allegiance. "I refuse to believe an operative will lead us to victory. Rogers has a better shot than that excuse for a soldier."

"Jealous much?" She retorts firmly. "Haven't you heard the rumors about him?" Anya crosses her arms over her chest, discovering her position amongst the battlegrounds. "He wasn't just any soldier-"

"-he was a science experiment." Matveev offers to the conversation. "That's what I heard."

"A super soldier?" She blurts out laughing at the subject. Karina shakes her head at the joking nature. Apparently, the truth was something they had all admitted to at some point. "Really? You realize how impossible that theory is?"

"What do you think they've been training us for?" Out of spite, Karina warrants her awareness.

"War," Plain and simple, I propose. The burn began to wear off the more I moved my limbs. "It's easy to assume they want power through war." Matveev cradles me until the coldness subsides. "They can't succeed without soldiers. They can't stand a chance without Rogers."

* * *

Officer Matveev brushed off his pant leg once he finished tying knots into the wires that held our captives. To think he was one of my worst enemies only an hour ago. Instead, his sweetness was linked to Karina as she paused to stare at his work.

"Nice job."

"Thanks," He smiles back.

She glowed in his prescience, making Anya sick with exposure to the scene. "Seriously?" Rolling her eyes, I followed her glance over at them. How they appeared to resist the outside forces which kept them apart. The anger and hatred, the bloodshed and pain, it all absorbed into their gaze. It was as though it never existed in the first place. That, whatever was to happen beyond those doors and onward, was only part of the future. Because now, in the present, that is what they had chosen to live for. They chose the life unlived in midst of the death surrounding us. A chaos, no doubt, meant to dig our own graves.

"Shall we?" I nod off to the sliding doors, awaiting our limited freedom.

We made it through the doors exiting the department with the help of Matveev's codes and fingerprints. They hadn't flagged him as rogue. At least, not yet. And as long as we made it far enough into the underground, passed the security by the training facility, we were home free. Thoughts weighed on my mind as we jogged and slowed our pace at the same time.

The drug for sedation and why it hadn't had lasting affects on my system. Why I could fling Matveev effortlessly with a simple move. Michail ordering me to leave him in the debris. I refused, trying to shove the stone aside and thinking it was impossible. The same as Anya concluded about Captain Rogers. The gash formed on my cheek in the reflection of metal frame on the stone wall. It healed faster than that of average scrapes and bruises. Why did I feel something was completely off?

"What is it?" Matveev asks after a certain interval.

"Nothing," I state, changing his focus. "We should make a left up ahead." A few more corridors lead us past the training facility where a couple of guards maintained their post. This was it. No more paths to go down that didn't lead us to getting caught.

He huffs out a breath of hot air. Frustration was common reoccurrence amongst fatigue. "Any bright ideas?" Just give up and let them beat us senseless to the extent that we can't even recall our own names. Anya and Karina followed the line of huddle before the curve to the stone revealed our stances. Even a lone whisper set one of the guards alert on its disturbance.

"Honestly?" Anya clicks a couple of buttons undone from her shirt, pushing up her chest with great purpose. "They're still men." Karina raises an eyebrow, unjust to the circumstance of seduction. Matveev coughs, glancing in the opposite direction as we continued to monitor the guards reaction. One had already begun to take a step towards us without knowing the odds. "Wish me luck." Winking back at us, she reinstates her walk by exaggerating the natural movements.

"This is what you call bright?" Karina mouths back to me while I shrug. Matveev remained neutral to our reactions.

Displaying the obvious protocol for the situation, the guards erupt into an argument over how to handle the perpetrator. "Stop right there." He moves in, jiggling handcuffs by his waist. "State your name and business." His palms rest on his hips where they provided resistance.

Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. I repeat this phrase inside my head while Anya closes in on her targets.

"I'm looking for Captain Rogers." Too late hoping for the best. A hand slaps against Matveev's face at the line. "He's suppose to assist me in my training for the Red Zone." Biting her nails intentionally, Anya receives the results she had been looking for.

"Rogers, aye." He starts when my heartbeat increases. "West wing was the last of my knowledge." Encircling around Anya, she begins to break a bead of sweat at his next critic. "What did you say your name was?" Batting her eyelashes, it was clear he wouldn't get the full answer.

"My name… right." I could see her eyes widen at the question. She couldn't answer without covering our tracks as well. Slowly, his hand retreated behind his back to the stick. My eyes squeeze shut promptly to mask the blow.

"Agent," The man claimed to be invincible takes one long stride along the corner only to pause at Anya and the guard. His vision shifts around the room until they fall onto mine near the corner of the wall. At this particular angle, it was safe to say that he understood our attempt at diversion. The corner of his mouth crinkled in a supposed humor before replacing it with utter seriousness. Again, he tried to control the situation that was at hand. "I expected your tardiness not to be an issue here. More so, what the General orders in regard to the Red."

If Anya hadn't been so in shock of his answer, she would have noticed the second guard rotating around the circle to join his partner. Both stood aside from the matter awaiting the explanation that the Captain had created at a moment's notice. "Yes, Captain." She managers to mutter despite the quiet, speechless gap between their initial greeting. "Officer Matveev should be along any minute with the other operatives."

"You came alone?" The second guard places an arm behind his back, bracing his grasp for the firearm.

Matveev begins to sweat at the question and moves in front of me. "Don't," I mouth back, grabbing a hold of his shoulder to pull him away from the scene. "She can handle this." Just give her some time. Even observing Rogers in a state of serene peace, it was miraculous. Anya, although worried, didn't transfer the expression to her face one bit.

After a moment, she answers the guard. "Of course, I follow the orders of the General instead of those two Rogues." The guards nod to each other, easing into the accepting manner of her words.

"Have they been excused from department X, yet?" Rogers pipes in against their worry.

Like a pro, Anya catches the next response perfectly. "Yes, Captain."

"Perfect, the General will be pleased." Oh, he's good.

Motioning to Matveev by tapping him on the shoulder blade, he offers a glance at Karina and me. Karina looks back at me with round eyes, not believing that the turn of events ended up in our favor. Come morning, all the more, luck would always land in our favor. We were one step closer to becoming free and one step further fighting in the middle of a war that presented more obstacles than most. No matter how much I remembered past the Red Zone, all the disadvantages and advantages I had as a soldier, I was still the same person underneath. It didn't matter how much the program tried to strip away every shred of human emotion, especially ones of compassion for my fellow soldiers. I would always remain loyal to myself, not the program. And the funny thing about all of it was how much their hope within the struggle of the war depended on not just me but my friends as well.

* * *

_**A/N: **__By dawn, Natasha and her fellow operatives will face the red of war. She concludes that Captain Rogers is anything but just an ordinary soldier based upon the facts she discovers while held captive in Department X. The only thing left to prepare for is the truth behind the Red Zone and why so many have never made it back without so much as a scratch. _


End file.
